


Diary II: TK's Entries

by LennysDiary



Series: Diaries: The Series [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: #SorryNotSorry, 90s & Early 00s Nostalgia, All Hail Ed Sloan, Anxiety, Being Gay In A Small Town, Bondage, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Coming Out, Consensual Sex, Crack Treated Seriously, Depression, Diary/Journal, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Contract, Dom/sub Play, Domspace, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Grief/Mourning, Handcuffs, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Millennials, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Paddling, Praise Kink, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Rock Music Overload, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Spanking, Topping, Who Needs God When You Have Crossfade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LennysDiary/pseuds/LennysDiary
Summary: Terry "TK" Kavanaugh is finally biting the bullet and telling everyone he's gay, but now that he's out of the closet, he's faced with a whole new set of problems. Like falling back in love with his old high school crush that he never had the courage to pursue, who might just feel the same about him, but already has a boyfriend. Can Terry settle for just being the "other guy"? Or can the torch he's carried all these years be enough to kindle the long awaited flame?Well, you certainly won't find out just by reading the author's shitty summary, now will you?
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Diaries: The Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832413
Comments: 73
Kudos: 17





	1. Change

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, Lenny back again to remind you that the author is still pretty bad at summaries, and this is basically the story of how my friend TK finally comes out of the closet and starts bangin' a guy, but the problem is this dude is already in a relationship, so it gets a little complicated.
> 
> Enjoy, assholes.
> 
> [WARNING: This contains MAJOR SPOILERS for Part 1!!]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If we break up, my entire life is going to change, but I just can’t stand spending one more second pretending to be something I’m not._

A friend of mine told me that the best way to start any story is with a good solid opening.

So I guess I’ll just start by introducing myself, and just get that out of the way real quick.

My name is Terry Kavanaugh, but you can just call me TK.

Oh and I’m gay, and today I’m finally going to tell my girlfriend.

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. I’m pushing thirty and I still haven’t come out of the closet yet? Well, the thing is, I didn’t always know I was gay? Yeah, for a long time I thought maybe I was just bisexual, so I thought I could be happy being in a relationship with a woman, and it was better than the alternative. Because, see, the alternative was being ostracized by pretty much everyone in town for being a rainbow toting, glitter wearing fag.

I live in a tiny little hick town filled mostly with conservative bigots that frown on people like that, so I didn’t want to draw any sort of attention to myself. But as I got older, the more I realized that I would never be happy in a hetero relationship, but I just assumed I had no choice but to be resigned to my fate of pretending to be attracted to women and closing my eyes and pretending I’m with someone else whenever I have sex. That is, until recently.

Because recently my boss got married…to a _guy_. And Mack being brave enough to put his relationship out there like that? Well, it sort of inspired me I guess. But it made me feel like I wasn’t alone, and today I woke up and decided I’ve had quite enough of this lie I’ve been living, and I’m finally ready to come clean. I know it’s going to be difficult though, because Melissa and I have been together for two years, and we live together now.

If we break up, my entire life is going to change, but I just can’t stand spending one more second pretending to be something I’m not. So I wake up–my heart immediately racing once I realize what I’m about to do–and I get dressed, throw on a pair of faded blue jeans and amble over to the bathroom. (We’re squeezed into a one bedroom studio apartment, and the bathroom is connected to the bedroom.) I splash water on my face, then brush my teeth.

I stare at myself in the mirror, my shoulder length dirty blond hair, my five o’clock shadow and my tired eyes. I think to myself, “This is it, today is the day I fuck everything up,” then sigh, and tiptoe back to the bedroom to search for a clean shirt. It’s Saturday, and Mack doesn’t need me to come in to work until Monday, so instead of throwing on a work shirt (Which is basically just a plain white t-shirt or a beater because we remodel houses for a living) I throw on my old Crossfade t-shirt.

I head to the cramped living room conjoined with our kitchen area and start a pot of coffee. Then, while it’s brewing I plop down on the couch, flip on the tv and pull out my vape kit. I watch the morning news while I clean the tank and refill it, then I wait for Melissa to wake up. The last thing I want to do is piss her off by waking her up, so I let her sleep in as long as she wants and keep the tv volume down low. It’s around eleven o’ clock when she wakes.

I know she’s awake when I hear her grumble sleepily from the bedroom, “Did you make coffee?”

“Yeah,” I call back, then I wait some more, puffing on that slushy flavored liquid and blowing smoke rings until Melissa finally gets up and shuffles into the living room. You know, for a chick, she’s really not too bad looking. I always used to think I struck gold with her, because even though she’s also pushing thirty, she looks ridiculously young still. She gets carded all the time when she buys alcohol or tobacco products because nobody believes she’s over 21.

She’s skinny too. Almost too skinny, but that’s mostly because she smokes so many cigarettes and could drink coffee all day long, which speeds up her metabolism. Her long auburn hair stretches down her back between her shoulders that are covered in freckles, and two sleepy blue eyes squint when she steps into the kitchen to mix cream and sugar with her morning coffee. Before she sits down on the couch, she leans in to peck my cheek with a kiss. I wince a little.

But luckily she doesn’t notice and mumbles, “Morning,” before settling next to me on the couch.

“Morning,” I say back, then clamp my teeth down on my vape again.

I keep waiting, for Melissa to get more awake, sitting quietly while she blows on her coffee mug until it’s cool enough to take a sip. I glance over at her, thinking to myself how much this is going to suck. I love her to pieces, I really do, but the problem is I’m starting to realize that the way I feel for Melissa is only the kind of love you feel for a friend, you know? It’s just because we’re comfortable, because we know each other so well, but not any sort of romantic love.

And in about ten minutes, I’m about to turn her world completely upside down too. But finally, when she’s awake–I know she’s awake when her eyes are all the way open and she starts talking in sentences longer than one or two words–I wait for my turn to speak, then shift until I’m sitting sideways on the couch, facing her, then I say, “Look, babe, there’s…there’s something I need to tell you.” And this is the beginning of the end.

Melissa quirks a brow at how serious I am right now, but just shrugs and says, “Okay? What’s up?”

I suck in a deep breath, then let it out in a rush.

Here goes nothing.

“I’m gay.”

“...Uh….What?”

It takes a few seconds for Melissa to completely grasp what I’m saying for some reason, but when it finally clicks she doesn’t freak out, but instead she starts _laughing_. For a half a minute she shakes the couch with her cackling, then says, “Oh you’re funny. You really had me going there.” What?…Oh, she thinks I’m joking. “Babe, oh my god, for like a whole second I thought you were like dead serious,” she says. “And I was like, ‘Oh my god! What?!’ Hilarious.”

“Uhm, no, I _am_ being serious.” Melissa just rolls her eyes at me. “I just…I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you, and know you’ll probably feel like I’ve just been wasting your time for the last two years, and I really do care about you, but….” I sigh. “I just couldn’t take lying about it anymore.”

She scoffs at me. “Get outta here,” she quips, waving me off. Then she picks up her phone, as it’s been laying on the coffee table in front of us, then with her french tipped nails click clacking on the screen she starts typing something in a text. Meanwhile I’m frustrated because she’d not even taking me seriously. Apparently she was texting a friend asking if now was a good time to talk because then she gets a call, puts it on speaker, and the friend is saying, “Hey what’s up.”

“Hey,” Melissa greets. “So get this, Tee just tried convincing me he’s gay,” she chuckles, and the response is a snort. The friend is some chick named Sam that she started hanging out with recently, and I scowl at the sound of her voice on the phone. I kind of don’t like her all that much. I mean, she’s okay I guess, but she’s kind of air-headed and acts like a slut. Oh what do guys call girls like that nowadays? Oh right. A thot. That’s Samantha Perkins. A thot.

“Like, oh my god, are serious?” she says, her voice kind of bland and nasally.

“Yeah as if I would ever believe it,” Melissa says. I frown at that.

I snatch the phone out of her hand, say, “Hi Sam, bye Sam,” and hang up, setting her phone back on the coffee table. “Melissa–”

“What the fuck Tee!”

“Melissa listen to me! I wasn’t joking! Look, I know it’s hard for you to believe, but I really am gay!”

Even after that, she still doesn’t believe me, scoffs at me like I’m ridiculous, shaking her head before she just stands up and walks back to the bedroom. She comes back with her pack of menthols and lights one up. “I’m sorry,” I say again, which only pisses her off.

“Just stop, Tee, it’s not even funny anymore.”

“It’s not a joke, Lissa. I’m trying to tell you I’m gay.”

She fidgets for a moment, puffing on her cigarette, then she starts getting emotional because I think she’s finally starting to believe me. It makes me feel like total shit, but I do my best to shove the feelings down and keep a calm, serious expression. Melissa chokes out a sob and tries to wipe her tears, saying, “You’re cheating on me,” Which is most definitely not true, so I stand up, shaking my head. I reach to comfort her but she holds up a hand.

“No, I’m not cheating on you. I’ve never once cheated on you, Liss. I’m not going and fucking guys behind your back. I just…I just got tired of living a lie, that’s all. You needed to know the truth.”

Tears still stream down her cheeks, and I know she won’t just magically get over it, but I still wish there was something I could do to make her feel better. It’s just in my nature. I’m just that guy that wants to fix everything, make it better. Hug and kiss away the tears and bring warm fuzzy blankets and comfort food. That instinct still kicks in when Melissa gets upset, so I keep trying to pull her into a consoling hug, but she fights me on it, and retreats to the kitchen.

“Just leave me alone, Tee,” she pouts. 

“Liss, I’m sorry,” I say again, because I don’t know what else to do, or any other way to fix this.

She sniffs again, and scrubs her face with her hand. After a minute, she says, “So you’re, what, you’re bisexual, or pansexual or whatever?”

I wish, because this would be so much easier to deal with, if that were true.

I exhale a sigh. “No,” I say. “I’m just attracted to men. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Melissa. I’m just…I’m not attracted to you.”

She chokes out another sob, squeezing her eyes shut and covering her face. “Oh god,” she cries. “You’re breaking up with me!”

Again, “I’m sorry.”

The apology does nothing, and if anything, just seems to make things worse because she cries even harder. Maybe it’s because she would _rather_ hear that I cheated. She’d rather I was leaving her for someone else, because then she’d have a solid reason to hate my guts. But right now, the only thing I’m guilty of is keeping my sexuality a secret, and maybe she understands why too. Because she knows how people would react if they found out I’m gay.

But she sobs for a minute or so, letting the cigarette in her hand burn down, and the ashes drop to the floor. I would say something about the mess she’s making, but it hardly compares to the one I just made. And it doesn’t really matter. I just broke her heart, shattered it to pieces, and I’m going to complain about cigarette ashes? Nah, fuck that. But finally, she snaps out of it, wipes her face again, then takes another puff of her menthol before saying, shakily, “Get out.”

“What?”

“Go away, Tee! I don’t care where, just go! Get out! I need my fucking space right now!”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll…I’ll go.”

I walk over to the couch, snatch up my tank and slip it in my pocket, then search for my wallet and car keys. I throw on a plaid striped flannel over my Crossfade t-shirt and spray some deodorant under my arms. Lastly I stuff my socked feet into an old worn pair of Chuck Taylors and lace them up, then I slink out of our apartment and shuffle down the fire escape. I understand where Melissa is coming from with needing space, so I unlock the Fiero parked out front and climb in.

I turn the key.

I don’t know where I’m headed just yet, but yeah, I guess this is it.

This is my story.

My name is Terry Kavanaugh, and today is the first day of the rest of my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Invincible"–Crossfade](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=LD5-ERDYpoQ&feature=share)
> 
> Check out TK's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-3q4InjDkADTzrXYMyFNLg)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	2. Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Yo there’s a gay bar a couple hours from here. Wontchya go check it out. Clearly your ass ain’t gotten properly laid in awhile.”_
> 
> _Finally I loosen up, chuckling at Stoney’s remark._
> 
> _“I finally admit that I’m queer and the first thing you say is, ‘There’s a gay bar nearby’?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Fine Again"–Seether](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=OoDWlbdJw7Y&feature=share)

I pull into the drive thru at McDonald’s and order breakfast. A bacon, egg and cheese sandwich with a large coffee. Then I park in an empty parking spot to scarf it down, sipping my coffee slowly. I wonder where I’m going to go from here. I’m assuming I’ll eventually move out of the apartment and into my own place, but I don’t know where I’ll go yet. At least Melissa’s not hurting for money right now, so I know she won’t be left high and dry with me gone.

It’s just going to suck if we can’t still be friends though. But at least we’ll both be free to find our own happiness, whatever that ends up being for the both of us. I don’t know, but what I do know is that I need to get high. I ran out of weed last night–Melissa and I rolled the last bit of it into a blunt and smoked it up–so I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find the name Smoke, then I press the green call button.

It rings a few times before someone answers, “Hello?”

“Hey, Uncle Smoke,” I greet.

“Hey, Tee. How’s it goin’ kiddo?” he says, and I smile a little.

He’s not actually my uncle or anything? That’s just what everybody calls him because he treats everyone he does business with like family. For as long as I’ve lived in this town, Smokey Stevens has been growing weed in his garage, and everybody knows he’s the biggest pothead in the county, of course, no ever talks about how he sells it to people, because Smoke’s a pretty laid back guy, who’s nice to everybody, and nobody likes a snitch. 

“Goin’ good,” I say over the phone, switching it from one ear to the other. “I was wondering if I could stop by?”

“Shit, yeah, come on over,” he invites. 

“Alright, thanks man,” I say, and not long after that we hang up and I start my car back up.

It’s about an hour long drive to Smoke’s house. He lives out in the middle of nowhere, what people around here like to call “the sticks”. His closest neighbor is nearly half a mile away, and the house is surrounded completely by an open field and a patch of woods. If not for the satellite dish and the telephone lines running from the house to the nearest pole, you would think I’d stepped out of the twenty-first century and into colonial times.

It’s a nice little one story house though. With an above-ground pool surrounded by a deck, and a two stall garage next to it. I think there’s a basement too, but I’ve never seen it. I originally met Smoke through his son, Andy, as Andy and I went to highschool together. We were in the same grade, graduated the same year. Not particularly close as friends, but after Andy got back from college he started throwing parties at his dad’s house nearly every weekend.

Once, I got invited to one such party, and started hanging around after that. Found out Smoke could get his hands on some of that fine sensimilla, so I started buying it from him, rather than the guy I was driving two counties over to see. Plus I like Smoke. Like I said, he’s a good guy, and so maybe he’s kind of burnt out, and might be getting a little senile in his old age, but everybody that comes through his door he treats like his own kid.

Thus he became known by nearly everybody in town as “Uncle Smokey”. I pull into his driveway around one o’clock or so, and park in the grass next to a black Chevy Nova that’s visiting, and hogging up all the space in the gravel driveway. It belongs to a guy named Stoney, whom I also went to school with, but never particularly cared much for. He’s a homeboy, you know, one of those types that acts black and listens to rap? Sounds like Eminem when he talks.

Yeah you can tell he’s not from here originally, because you just don’t find people like that around here naturally. If anything, you’ll find more rednecks blasting country music on their stereo, with their jacked up trucks covered in mud, than you’ll find guys like Stoney out in the wild. This town is so fucking small that there are literally only like three stop lights in the entire fucking county, and I’m not making that up. I _wish_ I was making that up.

But I’m not saying he’s a bad guy (I’m not even saying there’s anything wrong with that kind of lifestyle either; it’s just a descriptive.) But he’s also Melissa’s ex boyfriend. They fucked around before the two of us got together, and he didn’t like me that much when they first broke up. There was a lot of drama because of it. Mainly due to the fact that they broke up because of _me_. Yeah, she cheated on him with me. I’m kind of a home-wrecker.

(Shit. I’m not really selling myself as the hero of the story, am I? Damn.)

I mean we get along now that Stoney’s over it, and he’s moved on with someone else, but it still makes me nervous every time I see that Chevy Nova. Though I will say that playing nice with Stoney Etheridge has its perks. He’s a tattoo artist, and usually does pretty high quality work for a decent price if you get in good with him. When I get up to the porch I knock twice on the screen door just to be polite before I let myself in, and there he is on the couch.

There’s really no avoiding him. He and Andy were inseparable in highschool. They may have drifted over the years, but they’re still pretty good friends and still hang out on occasion. Plus, Stoney’s a pothead too, so he’s probably here for the same reason I am. He sits forward on the cushion, resting his elbows on his knees and glances up when I come in. He’s got a flat billed hat on sideways. Black, with gold letters on it, and a matching gold chain around his neck.

“Yo, Tee, whattup,” he greets, stone-faced though, not smiling like he’s happy to see me or anything. Just kind of here. Probably stoned. (It’s his calling card, after all.) He doesn’t get up to shake my hand.

“What’s goin’ on,” I say, then turn to Smoke, sitting in the recliner nearby. Smoke on the other hand has a huge grin on his face, like I’m the highlight of his day (Or he’s high already too). He looks like he’s still wearing the same outfit he was the last time I was here. Probably washed it since, but it’s just kind of funny how consistent he is. With long scraggly gray hair pulled back into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck, and the same ratty and faded Iron Maiden t-shirt on.

That ZZ Top beard he always rocks, and right now a thick pair of wire rimmed glasses that he pushes down on his nose and uses for reading since his eye sight isn’t all the greatest anymore. “Whassup, man,” I greet, and reach to give him a fist bump before I walk around the couch to park my ass at the end of it. Smoke reaches in the drawer of the end table next to him and pulls out a baggie, tossing it to me as I’m pulling bills out of my wallet to lay on the coffee table. “Thanks man.”

“No problem,” he says. “So how ya been doin’?”

“Oh I’ve…been alright,” I mumble, opening the bag to take a whiff of it first before plucking a single bud from inside the plastic. 

“Yo man, why you look like yo ass has seen a ghost or somethin’?” Stoney asks me, that street kid attitude shining through with his Detroit accent.

Yeah, I do seem a little on edge huh? I’m fidgeting, and not making eye contact. “It’s just…been a crazy morning, that’s all,” is my reply. I continue breaking up the weed in my hand into small bits before I stuff it in Smoke’s bong that’s sitting on the coffee table.

“What happened to ya?” the old man asks, curious.

“Me and my girlfriend broke up,” I explain in short order.

Beside me, Stoney lifts a single dark brow. “You and Melissa?” he asks, and I nod my head, eyes downcast still as I concentrate. “Damn. Y’all have been together for - what - two years now?”

“Yeah.”

“She finally cheated on your ass too, huh?”

I snort at that. “No,” I say. “No, she didn’t cheat on me or anything.” I think for a second about whether or not I should tell him the whole story, because I mean, he’s sort of friends with Mack too, and I think they still hang out, but I’m not exactly sure. So I don’t know if I’ll gross him out if I just come out and say it. But I’ve held it in for so long, and finally telling Melissa felt like such a weight lifted off of me, that I might as well just run with it.

“I finally told her I’m gay,” I say, and across from me Smoke just quietly lifts a brow like he finds this tidbit interesting. But beside me Stoney busts out laughing in disbelief.

“Nah man. No way. Your ass ain’t gay,” he denies, shaking his head. “Man you slept with damned near every chick in our senior class, and you can’t go nowhere without some bitch practically throwin’ herself at you, tryna get the D. Your ass is as straight as they come.”

I take a hit from the bong I just packed and hold in the smoke for a few seconds. Then I exhale with, “It was all a cover.” I strain to keep from coughing, redfaced. This batch is a bit stronger than the last bag I bought off Smoke.

“What? Nah. I don’t believe that.”

I just slowly nod. At least he’s not flipping out on me right now, he just doesn’t believe I really am, which I understand, and Smoke seems pretty indifferent right now too, so…I just shrug and say, “I mean, I thought maybe I was bi at first, but…I dunno, the older I get, I’m just not attracted to women anymore. Or maybe I never really was. I’m still kind of figuring out the logistics of it. But no, I’m…I’m attracted to men. I’ve just never dated one.” 

“Wait…so you mean yo ass has been hidin’ in the closet an’ fakin’ it all these years?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn,” Stoney comments, then stretches out his hand to take the bong from me and lights it next.

“I just wasn’t happy,” I say as I hand it to him, “And I was sick of fucking lying to myself. Melissa too. I mean, she doesn’t deserve that.”

Stoney exhales. “That’s where you and I might disagree, but…I feel ya though. Like, I get where you’re comin’ from. They say ‘the truth shall set you free’.”

Smoke leans forward and drawls, “Well, whaddya plan on doin’ now?”

“I dunno yet,” I say. 

Maybe just enjoy being single for a while? Single without the pressure of having to hook up with women all the time so people don’t think I’m gay. Maybe just be out. Out and proud, or whatever. Start looking for a new apartment. But apparently Stoney takes that question a completely different direction because he says, “Yo there’s a gay bar a couple hours from here. Wontchya go check it out. Clearly your ass ain’t gotten properly laid in awhile.”

Finally I loosen up, chuckling at Stoney’s remark. 

“I finally admit that I’m queer and the first thing you say is, ‘There’s a gay bar nearby’?”

“What, I’m just sayin’. Get yourself some on the rebound, right? That’s how I got over Melissa.”

“By going to a gay bar?”

Stoney cuffs my arm with a glare, saying, “No, smart ass, but yes I went out to the club,” as I’m laughing, clutching my arm. “Just sayin’ maybe it’s time you put yourself out there, ya know?”

“Come on now, don’t pressure ‘em,” Smoke chides. “Just ‘cause he’s single now don’t mean he’s gotta go to some gay bar if he don’t want to.”

“Thank you,” I tell Smoke, because clearly he’s on my side. Smoke smiles and nods.

But you know, Stoney’s got a point. When was the last time I got properly laid? I mean, if I’m gay, and I’ve only ever slept with women, have I truly even _had_ sex? But damn, what guy would even want to sleep with me though? Pushing thirty and my only experience with one was making out with some fan after a concert back when my band was on the road, touring? Jesus. I mean, that’s a lot of pressure on someone, to be somebody’s first time. 

But do I really just want to spend the whole weekend just sitting around and twiddling my thumbs?

Fuck it. 

Looks like my ass is going out tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Invincible"–Crossfade](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=LD5-ERDYpoQ&feature=share)
> 
> Check out TK's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-3q4InjDkADTzrXYMyFNLg)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	3. Renaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If this is the Renaissance of my generation, then I have most definitely found my Michelangelo’s Statue of David among this cornucopia of sex and cigarette smoke._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Shine"–Collective Soul](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=KtqaINvy_f8&feature=share)

That night I spend three hours on the interstate, then another hour navigating the city streets, looking for this stupid club Stoney was talking about. Part of the trip I spend debating just turning around, feeling like a complete idiot for even going in the first place. I mean, nightclubs just aren’t my thing. Not even back when I played music professionally. I mostly stuck to bar and grille type places, or campgrounds and county fairs, because I sang contemporary rock, not club hype.

But against my better judgement I keep my foot on the gas pedal, and my eyes peeled for the glowing neon sign that will point the way. Why? I don’t know why really, but maybe just because I’m a sucker for a good plot twist. Finally I find the place, then my only struggle is finding a good place to park that won’t get my car towed, because the last thing I need is to get stranded on this city strip. I don’t need the headache of a parking ticket either.

I didn’t go back to my apartment to change my clothes, because I was trying to respect Melissa’s need for space, but I think maybe I should have. I feel like I look like a high, sleepy discount Chris Kroeger walking into the place with my sloppy post-grunge look, and I half expected the guy at the door to turn me away when I tried to pay my way inside. But no, he just checked my I.D. to make sure I’m of age, accepted my money with a nod, then opened the door.

The club is called Vice, and I’ve always heard of it, but I’ve never set foot inside of it, for obvious reasons. But I don’t think there’s anyone that hasn’t heard of Vice, since it’s probably the only LGBTQ+ club in the state. I mean, if there are others, no one’s heard of them. But this place has a reputation for proudly being an establishment that caters to the community, and anyone who enters is assumed to swing some type of way other than straight.

It’s location is in a much bigger town than the one I’m from, far more diverse, and it’s not so cut off from the rest of the world like my hometown. But to say it’s merely different is probably an understatement. I’m blown away for a second, and wonder if it was really a good idea to come here tonight, when I walk in and I’m immediately blasted by loud pop music and bright flashing strobe lights. It’s a Saturday night, so of course the place is packed wall to wall.

I slip inside and weave my way through the crowd to the bar, feeling so conspicuous, and pretty soon I’m drawing attention to myself. I guess it’s the good kind though, because guys are starting to smile at me, openly appreciative of what they see. One guy passes by me - walking the opposite direction - that dwarfs my six feet in height, making me feel super inadequate for a split second when we make eye contact. Handsome, but kind of intimidating.

He wears a skin tight black muscle shirt, and he’s covered head to toe in tattoos; so many that it makes Stoney’s two full sleeves of ink look like nothing. He doesn’t smile when he sees me, but he shoots me a wink before he passes by, disappearing in the crowd once more. I have to admit, all the attention I’m getting is a much needed confidence boost. At least nobody’s looking at me like I’m a freak that doesn’t belong, though I feel way out of my comfort zone.

I squeeze past a tight knit group of people to snag an empty spot at the bar and wave down the bartender. I’m driving tonight, so I know I shouldn’t be drinking, but if I don’t at least get a shot of something, I’ll lose my nerve. The server is a slightly older blonde with an undercut combed to one side that makes him look just on the side of fashionable without being too flamboyant. He smiles at me, leaning in close to hear my order. “Shot of Jack Daniels, please.”

He stares for a second. “You do know this is a gay bar, right?” he asks over the music. (Wow. Stereotype much?)

I blink a couple of times and let my mouth drop like I’m so shocked to hear that. “What? Really? You’re kidding! I had _no_ idea! Are you sure?”

He sighs at me. “Whiskey for the smart ass. Got it.”

“Thank you,” I say, then turn sideways to look around the room while I wait for my drink.

I start to see a few people that look more my speed scattered about. I guess the nineties and early 2000s came back in fashion, because I’m not the only one that looks like they stepped out of an MTV segment. Checkered belts, denim blazers, flannel shirts and high waisted shorts, some of them looking like they jumped right off a Green Day poster with their orange hair. Skinny jeans or black baggy cargos with multiple chains hanging from their belts and Doc Martins.

But they all look so young though. Barely over twenty-one, and I’m guessing it’s just the latest trend to try to mimic the classic emo/scene kid look. The skater punk, we called it at my school. The fuck is it called now? E-kid? E-boy? Whatever, some shit like that. Anyway, the bartender sweeps by with my shot of Jack and I hand him my cash with a grateful smile. “Keep the change,” I say as he takes the money, making him flash an even wider grin before walking away, equally grateful. 

I down the shot and set the empty glass face down on the counter, then turn back around to prop my elbow on the surface. 

That’s when I spot him.

At some point I caught his attention and he’s been staring at me from across the room. Looks young from this distance, but his style is more contemporary. He’s gorgeous though. Just my type too. He looks like he might only come up to my shoulder in height, he’s very lean and I’d be surprised if he even weighs 120 lbs, soaking wet. He’s got his cropped brown hair slicked away from his face, and he’s wearing a black button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

A pouting bottom lip that looks _so_ edible right now as he bites the corner of it while appraising me with his eyes. They dart to my shirt briefly before he finally decides to come over to the bar. When he’s within arm’s reach, he gently pushes my flannel out of the way and says, “Sorry, I just–I couldn’t read your shirt, and I was trying to figure out what it said.” He peels it back to read the band name. I feel my eyes dim a little in disappointment at that.

Not interested in me huh? Just my shirt? Bummer.

But he smiles and says, “Yeah that’s what I thought it said. You listen to Crossfade? I used to listen to them all the time in highschool. Like, I was _so_ obsessed, because there was this guy at my school that played guitar and he knew some of their songs? And I had _such_ a huge crush on him.” He freezes and panics slightly. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling. I always end up getting so carried away and talking over people nonstop? So sorry about that. I just really like your shirt, and I didn’t–”

“No, it’s okay,” I say. “I don’t mind. I was listening.” He stops panicking and breaks into another bashful smile, face turning beet red when he blushes, and it’s extremely adorable. I think it’s ironic that he should mention having a crush on a guitar player in highschool, because I just so happen to _be_ a guitar player and I _swear_ he reminds me of my own highschool crush. He too was kind of shy, yet talkative once he was comfortable. Bubbly and animated when he was excited.

“I play guitar,” I add offhand, hoping to impress him. “I went through the whole garage band phase for a while.” I skim over mentioning my failure as a professional musician after highschool and just say, “I still play sometimes.”

“Really?” he perks, eyes shining up at me. “I played music too, but I was in the marching band, and I don’t think that counts,” he laughs, making me chuckle. “But I totally went through an emo phase though, and like, all I wanted to listen to was just punk and alternative? And literally nothing else. I drove my best friend crazy because I burnt a bunch of CDs on his laptop of, like, nothing but Fall Out Boy, Linkin Park and Three Days Grace.” He slumps a little. “Lame, I know.”

“No, I think it’s cool, actually,” I say, falling more and more in love with him by the second. “You’re allowed to like what you like, no matter what other people think. And it’s not lame at all. I’m TK, by the way.”

“I’m Justin. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Weird coincidence. Justin was the name of my highschool crush. 

“You too.” I glance around. “So…you just came over here to read my shirt, huh?”

He bites his lip, and brushes an imaginary strand of hair from his face, which I clearly read as him flirting. “No. No, actually that was just my excuse to come talk to you,” he says, and now I’m grinning. “You’re cute…and getting cuter by the second,” he adds, smirking. Oh the same could be said of him. He leans his head to look around me at the entrance. “You know, it’s kind of loud in here. You maybe wanna go outside? I could really use a cigarette right now.”

“Sure,” I say with a shrug, and happily follow Justin across the dance floor and back toward the front entrance, headed outside, heart pounding in my chest.

The door swings open, then the roar of sound is quickly muffled when it shuts behind us, and the quiet of the outside is like a breath of fresh air.

Suddenly I’m no longer suffocating, as Justin asks me, “So, what else was on your playlist besides Crossfade?” 

“Well, it was mostly Crossfade, I won’t lie I have like every one of their albums ever recorded, but there was also lot of stuff like Creed, Three Doors Down, Nickelback and Seether.” I tick them off with my fingers, leaning against the brick wall, and beside me Justin lights up a cigarette. He lets out a guttural laugh at Nickelback. I pull my vape from my pocket and take a puff. “I mean they’re still on there, but yeah they were in my top forty in highschool.” 

“You actually listen to Nickelback?” he asks. “Like, unironically?”

I nod. “Don’t feel so lame now, do you?” 

He shakes his head. “No,” he laughs. “No, I don’t. Like, at all.” I smirk at that. “Suddenly all my hours spent cycling through Panic At The Disco, All-American Rejects and Good Charlotte on my mp3 player to drown out the other kids on the school bus don’t seem quite so pathetic.”

“See? You’re not alone,” I say with a wink, bumping his shoulder playfully with mine and he smiles. “Yeah I mostly just listened to whatever was popular at the time,” I continue with a shrug. “Whatever was on the radio. I had a tape deck that would let me record? So I’d tape songs and sit and play them back so I could learn them on guitar.” He nods at that, finding it interesting. We each enjoy our nicotine buzz for a moment, watching people pass by, headed in and out of the club. 

“Did I miss something?” I ask, gesturing to yet another trendy nineties clad individual. “Jesus, I feel like I stepped out of a time machine.”

Justin tosses his head back in a laugh. “Yeah, I know. It’s kind of a fashion Renaissance at the moment, and the grunge aesthetic is making its comeback. It’s super popular with Gen Z right now.” He looks me over, then gestures to my clothes. “It just means it’s your time to shine again.”

I snort. “I sort of feel like a relic,” I say, then take another puff, blowing out a ring of vapor. “This shirt? I have legitimately owned this shirt _since_ highschool. I mean if my generation is now considered vintage, I’d say that makes my ass an antique.”

Justin chuckles at me, shaking his head. “You’re not that old. You’re - what - twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“Me too. See? You can’t be old. Because then that means I’m old, and I’m _not_ old.”

“Well, regardless you’re still hot as fuck, so it really doesn’t matter,” I say, and his chuckling tapers to lowly hum, basking in the compliment.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he purrs at me, with an, “I want to fuck your brains out” look. I bite my lip. You know, honestly I thought chatting up some random guy in a bar would be awkward? But this is so easy. Almost effortless. Can I marry this guy? Would that be weird? To drop to one knee and propose after only five minutes of knowing each other? He smiles at me, and I’m smiling back, but then I feel myself intrinsically lean in closer. He leans in too.

Our smiles fade, replaced by sensual looks, and before I know it, we’re kissing, his soft lips pressing into mine, and my hand reaches up to cup his face. People walking past completely ignore us, but I don’t even notice other people because for a second it’s like the outside world doesn’t even exist. It’s just us in this little bubble of crisp night air, my heart in my ears and a faint _thump thump thump_ to match it, coming from the heavy bass on the other side of the wall.

Damn, he feels amazing.

If this is the Renaissance of my generation, then I have most definitely found my Michelangelo’s Statue of David among this cornucopia of sex and cigarette smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Invincible"–Crossfade](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=LD5-ERDYpoQ&feature=share)
> 
> Check out TK's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-3q4InjDkADTzrXYMyFNLg)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	4. Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As I lick into that beautiful mouth like I’m cleaning out the last drops of whiskey from the bottom of a shot glass, steadily getting hard, I start to think we might have to finish this somewhere less public than near the entrance of a nightclub, so reluctantly I pull away and ask, “You wanna maybe go somewhere?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which our precious cookie acts like a total dork for an entire chapter *sigh*
> 
> Chapter Song: ["Higher"–Creed](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=FLTx18QMXmE&feature=share)

He flicks his cigarette away and presses closer, his hands sliding up my chest, then gripping the collar of my flannel shirt, as I slip my tank back in my pocket to pull him flush against me, and it’s like he just fits perfectly. I’m lost for a second, in my mind already picturing how he might feel underneath me, just drifting aimlessly with the kiss, as my hands start to drift upward, under his shirt. He lets me slip my tongue past his teeth, letting out a sweet, sultry little moan. 

_Damn_.

His skin is so warm under my touch, and he just feels…Man, it’s indescribable! But I can safely say I have never had such an intense attraction to someone like this before. As I lick into that beautiful mouth like I’m cleaning out the last drops of whiskey from the bottom of a shot glass, steadily getting hard, I start to think we might have to finish this somewhere less public than near the entrance of a nightclub, so reluctantly I pull away and ask, “You wanna maybe go somewhere?”

“Yes,” he says breathlessly. Enthusiastically, with a fervent nod. “Definitely yes.” I smile at that. “You have a car? I came here with a friend and we took her car, so…”

“Yeah, I’ve got a car.”

“You live close by?”

“No, but…I’ve got money for a hotel.”

“Alright,” he nods, then lets me take him by the hand and walk him to my car. I lace my fingers in his and squeeze his hand as we walk. “I’m going to text my friend so she doesn’t worry,” he says, then pulls out his phone and texts one handed to this mystery friend, then when he’s done, slips his phone back in his pocket and smiles. He doesn’t seem to mind the fact that I drive a beat up Pontiac Fiero, and still exuberantly hops in after I’ve unlocked the car.

(I think what matters more at the moment is the fact that I _have_ a car.)

So we get in and I start it up, then I remember something. “U-uhm,” I chuckle nervously, running fingers through my hair and now it’s my turn to be the incessant rambler because I’m anxious, “I don’t have any condoms. I forgot to grab some before I went out. And I honestly don’t know how far you would want take things, but I kind of just wanna play it safe? You know, just in case. I’m honestly down for whatever, but…You want me to make a pit stop?”

“Yes, definitely, and thank you,” he says. “That’s very considerate.” He smiles warmly at me, eyes shining still. I nod, then shift into reverse and turn my head to see as I’m backing out of the parking space. I guess my forethought is considered chivalry these days? But I mean, I’m just being smart here. We literally just met, and I don’t expect him to take me at my word if I say I’m clean, even though I am, and it’s just common sense to practice safe sex. 

(There is nothing attractive or sexy about unknowingly transmitting a disease, people. So don’t do it.)

I attempt to navigate the busy foreign streets searching for a Walgreens. Justin is very helpful. He pulls up a GPS app on his phone and it directs us to the nearest store location. “I’ll be right back,” I say after we’ve parked, as I’m climbing out of the car. I try not to skip too quickly and excitedly up to the door even though I’m so stoked. I’m finally buying condoms to - _hopefully_ \- have sex with a guy! This is a momentous night for me.

I browse for a while, looking at their available selection of condoms and lubricant, and I don’t find the brand that I normally use, which is disappointing because they’re extremely comfortable, so I just grab a box of the next best thing in the largest size available. (And just quietly hope and pray they fit, and the condom doesn’t decide to break.) As the cashier is ringing up the order, she gets a good look at the items and smirks.

“Lucky girl,” she comments, and I snort.

I hand her the cash to pay for everything. As she’s giving me my change back and the receipt along with it I say, “Lucky _guy_ , actually,” Proudly with a smile, then snatch up my bag and head back out, leaving her baffled.

I chuckle about it to myself as I’m headed back to my car. Justin is texting someone as I’m climbing back in the driver’s seat, but quickly puts his phone away, giving me his full undivided attention as I shut the door. “Here, if you wouldn’t mind holding that,” I say as I set the bag in his lap, and he accepts with a mumbled, “Okay,” peeking inside as I’m starting the engine back up. I glance over to see his expression morph to one of shock. Uh-oh.

“Uhm, is all that okay? Are you allergic to any of it?” I ask, as his eyes feast upon the bottle of top dollar brand lubricant and extra large sized latex condoms. He gulps.

“ _No_ ,” he all but whispers, then scrunches the bag shut with white knuckles and reddened cheeks, visibly flustered. He clears his throat and shifts around in the seat. “No, I’m not allergic,” he says, his voice strained. His breath is suddenly labored too, and I think I know what his problem is. I think he’s just picturing the dick that’s going to fit inside that condom. Then his teeth clamp down on his bottom lip hard, like he just imagined it. “Hotel?”

“Yeah,” I nod. 

So our next challenge is finding a reasonably priced hotel suite with an available room that’s close by, on short notice. Justin’s looking on his phone as I’m driving and says, “Hmm, looks like there’s a motel like ten minutes from here. I’ll call and see if they have any vacancies.” He thumbs the call button and chirps brightly at the person who answers, with, “Hi there! I was wondering if you have any vacant rooms?…Uh huh? Sure.” He glances at me, I guess waiting for the clerk to check.

He gives me the price of the room available and I nod permissively. I just got paid yesterday, so money’s not really that big of an issue for me at the moment. He reserves a room for us, and directs me to the place, which is just under ten minutes on the highway. We end up chatting a little bit more about music as we drive, occasionally sharing glances and smiles. I would turn the radio on to actually listen to music, but I like talking to him. I like hearing his bubbly voice.

He’s what I always pictured in a guy, you know? Just that happy, affluent and energetic personality that’s always overly enthusiastic and so expressive about everything. Effeminate, and coy. The opposite of me, basically. But that’s the kind of person I just want to wrap up in a blanket burrito and feed cookies to. That’s Justin in a nutshell so far. The more he talks, and snickers at my snarky comments, the more I want to wrap my arms around him and just never let him go.

(Yeah I _might_ just like him a little. Just saying.)

But my heart jumps to my throat when we finally find the hotel and I pull the car around to search for an empty space to park. I can’t believe I’m actually _doing_ this. Finally I see a spot and slowly pull in to it, shift into park, let off the brake, then shut the engine off. Justin and I share another solicited look. “Do you want me to just wait in the car while you, you know…” Justin starts, then jerks his head toward the window where an attendant sits, ready to take cash in exchange for a room. 

“Why?…Oh.” I snort. “Right.” Whoever is here might have some comment to make about two guys showing up to pay for a room with a single bed in it. I didn’t even think about it though. My mind was so caught up in getting that keycard in my hand so I can get Justin out of those tight fitting jeans he’s got on. And I guess I’m just not used to thinking about those kinds of things. Like, what people might think if they see me with someone. “It doesn’t matter,” I decide.

“You don’t mind if people see us getting a room together?”

I shrug. Not anymore. “I don’t care,” I say, then unbuckle my seat belt. Justin looks thoughtful at me for some reason, but I have no idea why. Maybe he’s just trying to figure me out. We get out of the car and I strut up to the window, pulling out my wallet. Justin hangs off to the side, looking around the mostly empty parking lot while I sign my name at the bottom of a page, pay for the room, then take the keycard with a brief flash of a smile.

We walk to the end, searching for the right room, and when we finally get inside, shutting the door and locking it behind us, it’s like everything I’ve been holding in for the past hour comes rushing out of me when I grab Justin and pull him in for another kiss. For a second I wonder if I’m being too rough or forceful with the way I kiss him, but he’s just as desperate as I am, letting the bag he’s been carrying drop to the floor, moaning into my mouth as we kiss. 

His hands slide around my neck and he clings to me just as tightly, kissing me back with equal enthusiasm. Part of me wants to slow down and just talk first, maybe see what kinds of things he’s into, but a bigger part of me is enjoying this kind of “living in the moment” thing we’re doing right now. Just kissing and touching and exploring each other like this. Like tossing the guitar tabs out the window and just playing the notes by ear.

After a few minutes he starts nudging me toward the bed behind us. I end up sitting on it and pulling him into my lap as we make out. He comfortably straddles me and tangles his fingers in my hair. I pull away a little to see what I’m doing as I slowly unbutton his shirt. It’s crazy how I feel right now, and I don’t know how to describe it, other than I kind of feel like I’m going back to an old familiar song, ironically. I never knew what to do with a woman, you know?

Beyond just slapping on a condom and shoving it in, then going to town, women were just this confounding puzzle, like trying to solve a rubix cube, to my senses. Complicated, and frustrating. But this? Yeah I got this. Crazy as it sounds, even though I’ve never done this before, it’s like riding a bicycle. By that I just mean to say it’s natural, like it’s just what I was always meant to do. Oh yeah, yeah I'm gay as fuck.

I leave a trail of kisses down his neck as I open his shirt, taking my sweet time removing it.

He obviously takes good care of his skin, because it’s baby soft and smooth to touch. I relish in every little moan and sigh as I let my mouth venture lower, across his chest. I notice he seems to be a lover of manscaping - which I appreciate - as he lets me peel the shirt back to reveal a smooth, hairless chest with two pert nipples peaking out at me that I lean in to get a taste of. He throws his head back in a languid sigh as I gently nip at one, then kiss my way to the other.

If my dick got any harder it could bust through concrete. The sounds he makes fucking drive me up the wall, make me want to immediately toss him on the bed and have my way with him, but if I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that good things come with patience (some of them apparently take _years_ worth) and I really don’t want to fuck this up for myself if he doesn’t like the type of guy that just unceremoniously pins him to the bed without warning and treats him like a dirty slut. 

He tugs at my shirt, indicating I take it off, so I pause to shirk out of the flannel, then pull my band tee up over my head for him. His eyes spark with lust as he feasts them on my naked upper half, semi toned from working a manual labor nine-to-five. He rakes them over my tattoos, because I have a couple. Just random things I’ve slapped on over the years that seemed significant at the time, but only because I was high or drunk and they sounded like they’d be cool.

He runs his soft hands over my bare skin and bites his lip. Then I bite it, leaning in to nip at it with my teeth before kissing him again. When he pulls away he asks me, rather impishly, “So, I can safely assume that the T in TK stands for Top?” I chuckle at that.

“Nah, but…yeah, I’m a top…if you’re okay with that? ‘Cause I mean, I probably should’ve asked about it way before hand, but, I mean if you’re into switching, I guess I wouldn’t mind…”

He shakes his head. “It’s not really my thing either, and I much prefer bottoming anyway, so,” he tells me, to my relief. Guess we’re in agreement on that front. We’re most definitely compatible and penetration during sex isn’t going to be a struggle to navigate. His fingers twirl my hair absently. “So are you ready to put those things to good use?” he asks, gesturing to the abandoned plastic bag on the floor with a suggestive grin.

“Yeah,” I nod. “But we can take it slow if you want to? I mean, we can play it however you want.”

“Well, normally I would say yes to long, drawn out foreplay before jumping right into it, but,” He grinds against me impatiently, “I already feel like if I don’t have you inside of me like _immediately_ I might just die.” Damn. I turn him on that much, huh? Same. _Hard_ same.

“Alright,” I say, then reach down to cup his ass and pick him up, then gently deposit him on the bed. I hear a clink of a belt behind me as I fetch the bag, then watch as he strips completely of his clothing. I set the bag on the nightstand fumble with the rest of my clothes as well. He’s rock hard too, and absolutely beautiful laying naked on his side on the bed, those expressive eyes of his seeming fairly appreciative of me in the same light. He beckons me closer.

I stretch out on top of him, first spending some time simply enjoying the feel of him underneath me, skin to skin, and it’s better than I imagined it would be. He’s soft in all the right places, hard in all the right places too, and it feels so good just to be able to hold him and lazily make out with him. I can’t tell you how badly I’ve wanted this for so long! I don’t know why I thought I could live without it, how I could have expected to ever be happy just settling for closing my eyes and pretending.

But after awhile I start to panic just a little, because I remember that this still is my first time with a guy, and while everything is great in theory, the real thing is still the real thing and I have absolutely _no_ experience with the real thing and I’m terrified that I’ll suck at it. Should I just be honest with him? Maybe I should just be honest with him. I raise my head to look down at him and say, “I should probably tell you something…I’ve…I’ve never actually been with a guy before.”

He gapes at me in disbelief for a second. “Really? You’re a virgin? Could’ve fooled me. Because, I mean, you certainly seem to know what you want,” he laughs, and I huff a little, smiling.

“Well yeah I do, but…I’ve only ever been with women. Does that…does it bother you?”

“No,” he tells me, and I flood with relief. “It’s everyone’s first time at some point. So you were in the closet, huh? I mean I kind of figured, because you don’t really strike me as the type that’s been out for very long.”

“Yeah. I just…I just finally broke up with my girlfriend, actually,” I admit. “Just got tired of lying to myself about it.”

“Well then,” He resumes kissing and nibbling at my lip briefly, then murmurs seductively, “Let me show you what you’ve been missing out on all this time.”

I groan, dick throbbing, when he starts kissing my neck, and mumble, “Sounds good to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Invincible"–Crossfade](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=LD5-ERDYpoQ&feature=share)
> 
> Check out TK's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-3q4InjDkADTzrXYMyFNLg)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	5. Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _While I don’t mind rough kinky sex, I don’t like causing pain, so I stop moving and say, “Maybe we should stop,” And he shoots a glare at me. “It’s too much and I’m hurting you.” I try to pull out but he locks his ankles in place around me to hold me down._
> 
> _“No,” he breathes. “No. Don’t stop. It’s fine, it’s just…i-it’s just not what I’m used to.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry this took so long guys. Writer's block is a bitch.
> 
> Chapter Song: ["Comedown"–Bush](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=JtVZr022RJs&feature=share)

With as chatty as he’s been up until now, I find it a bit of a shock that he should get kind of quiet when he takes the lube in hand and preps himself for me, and I sit up, then lean back on my calves to watch. Maybe it’s just me, and he might be more vocal with somebody after he’s been with them long enough, but right now he’s almost completely non-verbal, cheeks, neck and collar a bright splotchy pink, blushing as he lays back, spread out for me, fingering himself.

I’m an avid spectator as he cocks one leg kind of in the air and reaches from behind to slowly insert a single digit first, followed by more as he goes along, giving me a phenomenal view of the whole experience. I absently rub his thigh as I watch, and reach with my other hand to stroke myself, painfully hard at the sight of that hole twitching and his fingers sliding in and out of it. My eyes zero in on the sight, and if I were a dog I’d be salivating.

He doesn’t try to put on a show of enjoyment with heavily exaggerated moans and sighs, but I can tell he’s doing it not solely out of necessity, but leisurely for my benefit by the way he watches my reactions, instead of letting his eyes close and his head fall back on the pillow. And it’s better than any porno, I’ll say that. I’m absolutely fucking _mesmerized_ by this crazy beautiful and oh so sexy creature laid out before me, softly panting as he opens himself up.

I could probably come just from watching him play with himself, but I want more, and I know he does too. But I’m not confident he can take me yet, even after he’s got three fingers almost to the knuckle deep inside him, so I reach down to ghost my hand over his, asking, “Can I?” He nods, so I reach for the bottle of lube next and squirt a few drops on my fingers to slick them up. He moves his hand to let me finger him instead, pushing just two inside to start with, since my hands are bigger.

This time he does throw his head back in a moan, eyes falling shut as I resume the task for him, exploring the inside of that warm, velvety soft ring of contracting muscle with interest. God I can’t wait to feel that around my dick! It’s been steadily leaking precum and literally jumping at the chance to get in there since the start of this, but now I’m even more impatient to be inside of him, though I do my best to keep that same unhurried pace he had.

Neither one of us are going anywhere. So where’s the rush, really? I work him up to three of my larger fingers, and his moaning steadily increases in volume. He doesn’t say anything still, no things like, “Oh yeah, just like that,” but I take it by his non-verbal affirmations that I must be doing something right. I never had a desire to be topped by a guy, so I’ve never done any of this kind of exploration on myself, so I don’t know what it feels like, but he seems to like it.

It’s not the same as fingering a woman - not even the same as anal with one - but if I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s how to do it without hurting somebody. I dig my fingers repeatedly inside him, my dick throbbing and all the moaning and whimpering he does, until I’m certain he’s loose enough that he can take it without bleeding or anything, then I pull away to reach for the box of condoms. I’m a little excited opening the box and tearing one off the string of them.

As I tear open the package with my teeth then roll the condom on, he finally speaks, and with a breathless voice asks, “Do you mind if we face each other during?” To which I smirk and shake my head. No, I don’t mind at all. I very much look forward to being able to stare down at that handsome face and incredible body and not have to close my eyes. And maybe for the first time in my life live in the real world, instead of in my head, stuck in some fantasy land.

“Yeah, I - I want that,” I admit, and he smiles at me.

He reaches for me, so I lean down to kiss him again, our tongues sliding over each other’s easily. Then he reaches for the pillow behind his head to tuck it under himself, raising him up just a little. He wraps his legs around my frame and reaches down to guide me in, at his own pace that he’s comfortable with. But he sucks in a sharp breath when the head squeezes past that first barrier and his face contorts slightly to one of discomfort, so I start to panic.

As it becomes more and more difficult to push inside of him without his face screwing up in pain, his breath becoming more labored and his face turning a darker shade of red, I wonder if this is a good idea. While I don’t mind rough kinky sex, I don’t like causing pain, so I stop moving and say, “Maybe we should stop,” And he shoots a glare at me. “It’s too much and I’m hurting you.” I try to pull out but he locks his ankles in place around me to hold me down.

“No,” he breathes. “No. Don’t stop. It’s fine, it’s just…i-it’s just not what I’m used to.”

Clearly. “Okay?…If you’re sure.”

“Yeah,” he nods, so we continue. I will admit that pushing inside of him is a glorious feeling, so once I’m certain this is what he truly wants, I stop panicking and allow myself to enjoy it again. If I could describe to you how it feels, trust me I would, but I honestly can’t. I’m not much of a wordsmith, and honestly there are no words. If I tried to write a song about it, the only lyrics it would have would be, “Holy fuck this is awesome!!” Screamed at the highest decibel. 

(And the backtrack vocals would be nothing but moaning, probably.)

We both let out a pleasurable groan once I’m fully seated inside him, and I take a pause to just bask in it before I start moving. He looks incredible beneath me, with his hair all mussed, his face a healthy shade of pink and that bottom lip quivering. I do my best not to crush him, holding myself up with my hands pressed firmly into the mattress, fingers digging into the fabric of the comforter splayed across. He trembles beneath me, and I feel him throb in pleasure around my dick.

I feel like I was made for this right here. Oh yeah, yeah this dick was _definitely_ wasted on women. Slowly I start to move, keeping myself deep inside him, but just gently thrusting, testing the waters. He braces for it, anchoring himself on the bed by gripping my wrists, and briefly the thought enters my mind of what it would be like if that were reversed. Would he like that? If I pinned him to the bed by his wrists to hold him still while I drive into him?

I mean, _I’d_ certainly like it.

Okay, before we go any further into this story, there’s probably something you should know about me, as that last sentence might have been confusing. Like, _why_ do I want to pin someone to a bed so they cant move? Well, that’s because I’m a Dom. Yes, you read that correctly. I said Dom, and you can quote me on that shit. Now before you make any kind of assumptions about me, or start thinking I’m some kind of controlling, abusive asshole, trust me, I’m _not_ like that.

There's just a certain way I like to have sex that usually throws people off. I mean, it’s not really anything like they make it out to be in movies like that dumbass 50 Shades of Grey bullshit, I promise it’s really not. Although yes, it's true that some men can be extremely manipulative and domineering in their relationships, but I’m not like that, and I’m certainly not a stalker. I’m no sadist either, but yes, I do like to take control in the bedroom, and sometimes that’s in the literal sense.

Like, I’m talking _not_ just being a top. I mean _real_ control over someone. From start to finish. Dominance in every way over someone. Because some people _need_ to be controlled like that. They need to be able to let go of all responsibilities and burdens and just let someone else take the lead. Which is what I like to do. So when Justin grabs my wrists like that in order to hold himself in place while I fuck him, it trips a wire in my brain that makes me crave that more than anything. 

Because I’m sensing he craves it too. But I don’t want to accidentally trigger him if he’s experienced something in the past that would make him freak out if I pinned him down. I have to resist the urge, so I grit my teeth and concentrate instead on how good he feels underneath me. Because goddamn does he feel good. I mean no offense to Melissa, but shit he’s tighter than any bitch I’ve fucked in the past. I start to pick up the pace a little, and finally I hear something _not_ a moan, in the form of, “Oh fuck yes!”

It spurs me on, encouraging me to fuck to just a little harder, and just a little faster, saying, “You like that?”

“Fuck yeah,” he moans, and then I hear, “ _Harder_!”

Oh so he _likes_ it a little kinky huh? Hell fucking yes! 

It makes my night to hear that shit, so I fuck harder, keeping a somewhat steady pace, not exuberantly fast but driving into him harsher, and he gets this lustful, heated look in his eyes. I’d recognize that look anywhere. Oh yeah, yeah this guy was _made_ to take this dick. Built from the ground up to take this shit. My mind flips from wanting to give it to him to briefly wanting to push that limit and see just how much he can _take_ , and it starts to take everything in me to keep from pinning him down.

My brain is telling me that’s what he wants. All the signs are there. That while yes he seems to like a lot of agonizingly slow foreplay, and probably all the romantic touching and kissing that goes along with it, this guy is definitely also a freak demanding that dominance from his partner. Needs it. _Craves_ it. Same as I do. Oh fuck what I would give to have a pair of handcuffs right now and a metal barred headboard! Goddamn! I can picture it now. Enthusiastically he pushes against my thrusts.

“Goddamn,” I stutter, as every drive of my dick inside him its all the right spots and I feel like I could come like this. Like, I feel that shit building. A little faster and I probably could. Oh but then he does something phenomenal.

“Kiss me,” he begs, and I bite my lip before bending to comply, switching from propping myself up with my hands to resting on my forearms instead as we make out, and at this angle, holy shit! He moans and whimpers in my mouth as my tongue snakes in and out of his with as much urgency as my dick inside him and now he’s shaking even more. Evidently this slightly augmented position makes me hit his prostate, because I can feel his whole body start to tense up in anticipation of that orgasm.

I want to feel that. I want to know if it’s going to feel as good as I think it's going to. With every thrust he squeezes me tighter, and pushes against me with his pelvis to drive me in where he wants me, and it feels like he’s getting pretty close. But now that I’ve settled on top of him, instead of grabbing my wrists he curls his fingers around my biceps to hold himself in place, and I just can’t stand it. I _need_ to take control here. So without consciously thinking about it, I shift and grab both hands.

I press him into the mattress, holding him in place beneath me, and _fuck yeah_ he likes it! “Fuck yes,” he moans against my mouth as he laces his fingers with mine and squeezes my hands. Holy shit is he driving me crazy right now, and now that I’m holding him down and have more control over his positioning on the bed, I start to get dangerously close to coming. My whole body is straining, every muscle drawing tight and underneath me I feel him push closer and closer to that edge as well.

He starts squeezing me so tight around my midriff with his legs that I literally start to worry about him cracking a rib or two, and that’s when I feel it. That moment of sweet release, when he goes completely silent, no moaning, barely even any breathing and he goes completely still beneath me. One final push of my dick inside him and one final stroke of my tongue in the back of his throat and he shivers, that tight hole squeezing around my dick.

I feel him throb repeatedly, but I don’t just feel his dick where it's pinned between my stomach and his. No. I feel it throughout his _whole body_ and fuck that feels incredible. It’s like someone is taking their hand and repeatedly squeezing my dick and I start to falter in my steady rhythm, feeling my own climax soon to follow. Every sensation I’m feeling right now is suddenly too much, and now I’m coming, steadily pumping that cum deep inside him, to be trapped by a condom.

Holy fucking shit, man. I mean goddamn! I honestly thought the condom would make me last longer, but even with it on and this man has driven me _so goddamn insane_ that I barely lasted ten minutes probably. I mean I’d be amazed if it was even that long. “Holy shit,” I stutter as it comes rushing out of me and my eyes squeeze shut tight. He lets out a moan like he even likes the feel of me coming inside of him, filling him up, and goddamn that does things to me too. We’re both shaking now, and both a mess.

“You’re… _really intense_ ,” he pants heavily, which is an odd thing to say. Nobody’s ever said that before. I’ve heard a lot of things, but never that.

Though as I lift my head slightly to look down at him, my happy foggy brain blurts out something pretty absurd too.

“You’re really beautiful,” it blurts out, and he lifts a brow at me.

“ _Beautiful_?” he repeats, like the word is foreign to him or something.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “What? Guys can be beautiful too, ya know.”

“Well yeah I _know_ but…It’s just…nobody's ever called me that before.”

“They should,” I say, and as I’m starting to go down, I start to pull out, letting go of one hand to reach down and hold the condom in place so I don’t lose it inside of him. Though truthfully I don’t want to let him go at all. Never. Never ever ever. “They should tell you that all the time,” I say, as I sit up and steadily peel the condom off as I’m stare down at him. “Every day. All day long.” He chuckles at me, shaking his head like I’m ridiculous for suggesting that. But it’s true.

He’s fucking beautiful from top to bottom, if you ask me.

* * *

After we’re cleaned up, we chill under the covers, both resting on our sides and facing each other, with an ashtray between us. Sharing a cigarette because the battery on my vape machine died so I’m bumming a smoke from Justin and currently puffing on it as we stare at each other. Don’t know what kind it is – I wasn’t paying attention, too focused on Justin – but it’s a menthol and it’s not half bad really. I’m not usually a smoker, never have been, because I knew how it would affect my singing, but it doesn’t much matter at the moment.

“So you were an emo kid in high school,” I comprise and he blushes, ducking his head shyly.

“I _wish_ I had been that cool in highschool,” he says, taking the cigarette when I hand it to him. “I just listened to the music,” he admits. “I mean, it wasn’t like I had the crazy hair or the clothes or anything? Like, my mom is super conservative and she would’ve _killed_ me if I tried to leave the house looking like that…Nah I was a band geek through and through. I played the clarinet, so.” He flicks the ashes off the cigarette into the ashtray. “Picture khakis and sweater vests, if you will. Oh and glasses. I didn’t start wearing contacts until after I graduated.”

I bite my lip a little, such imagery conjuring in my mind the memory of _another_ Justin, who was also a bit of a geek, with thick glasses and one of those stupid sweater vests. 

_Justin Macintosh._

I’ll never forget the first time I ever spoke to him. Freshman year. He’d tripped and dropped all of the books he’d been carrying near my locker as I was getting my own books out of it. Everybody else just passed him by, all but completely ignored him, because they all thought he was a loser and couldn’t be bothered to help the poor kid out. He was always being picked on too. Didn’t have any friends at the time, no one to stand up for him, and I felt really bad for him.

I closed my locker and bent to help him.

He kind of panicked when he saw me approach and started mumbling, “I’m sorry,” like he’d offended me somehow or was somehow an inconvenience.

“It’s okay. Let me help you.”

We picked up his books and I helped him pile them in a stack in his arms, even reached out to grab them and keep them from shifting about when he almost dropped them again. And then our eyes met. Mine and his. I remember them being so vividly blue I’d swear I was looking at the sky, and so big behind those thick wire rims. Of course he had on one of those silly blue knit sweater vests over a white collared button down, tucked into tan khakis, and even those dorky penny loafers.

But me, I couldn’t care what he was wearing, or how dorky he looked. All I could remember thinking was how beautiful those eyes were, and how badly I wanted to kiss that bottom lip of his when he clamped down on it with his teeth. Coincidentally, that was the moment I first suspected I was gay too. “Thank you,” he said, and I nodded.

“No problem.”

“I’m Justin,” he said, though I already knew who he was. We had 6th period English together and he sat a few seats in front of mine. “Justin Macintosh.”

“I’m Terry,” I introduced. “Terry Kavanaugh.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Terry. I hope I’ll see you around.”

“You will. 6th period. I sit behind you.”

“Oh,” he blushed. “I didn’t realize.”

The bell rang, and we were both going to be late for class, it seemed…

The Justin I’m currently with pulls me out of my thoughts when he says, “Lame, am I right?”

I blink. I take the cigarette from him, then I say as I puff on it, “Nah it sounds adorable actually.” 

His jaw drops. “You're kidding me, right?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “No I’m serious. I had a thing for the nerdy types. I definitely would’ve had a crush on you in highschool.”

“Get outta here,” he groans, lightly shoving my shoulder and I laugh again. “No way. You would’ve totally overlooked me in highschool. You played guitar and had a band. You were probably super popular.”

Kind of? I mean, _I_ thought I was cool. Not because I was super popular, but just because I wasn’t a poser who acted like they were better than everyone else. I mean yeah there were totally chicks at my school that were into the whole “lead singer of a band” thing, but I was kind of a loner too, and I really couldn’t care less what other people thought. Kind of just did my own thing really. The only people I really talked to were my band mates and a handful of others. So, super popular? Likely not.

“It wouldn’t matter,” I tell Justin. “I tried to treat everybody the same, you know? Like, treat other people how I would want them to treat me. Didn’t make me popular though.”

“Yeah but I bet you were super cute,” he says, smirking and winking at me.

“Nah I mean I tried to look like a cool rocker type, you know, fit the grunge singer personality, but I think I just looked like an Aaron Carter wannabe, probably. Total douchebag. Had the frosted highlights and the stupid leather jacket that was probably not as cool as I thought it was.”

(Fun fact: Aaron Carter was the Justin Beiber of _my_ generation. Google that asshole and you’ll get the idea of what I probably looked like in highschool. Aka, super fucking lame.)

“Still cute,” Justin swears, and I shake my head at him.

“I think you’re wrong.”

He leans in to peck my mouth with a kiss.

“I think I’m _right_ ,” he counters. But by now the cigarette is almost gone, and when he leans back in to keep kissing me, I start to get hard again. Enough time has passed that I think I could handle another round, so I pluck the cigarette from his hands and snuff it out. Then I lean over him to set the ashtray on the night stand. He hums his approval when I kiss him again, gently nudging him onto his back. I can’t get enough of this honestly. I don’t even care about the taste of cigarettes on his tongue. 

I don’t know about you guys, but I’m having a _damn good night_ tonight.

I don’t want it to ever end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Invincible"–Crossfade](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=LD5-ERDYpoQ&feature=share)
> 
> Check out TK's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-3q4InjDkADTzrXYMyFNLg)!
> 
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> Join the Discord: <https://discord.gg/wVFt8Ke5YN>


	6. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He’s gone when I wake up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Glycerine"–Bush](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=VTa79aZ87Ps&feature=share)

He’s gone when I wake up.

Yep, I wake up the following morning and roll over to feel an empty space beside me instead of a body. When I blink my eyes open, I see no sign of Justin and sit up, looking around. No evidence of clothes on the floor or an occupied bathroom, and he’s nowhere in sight. I flop my head back against the pillow and sigh. I know better than to think he stepped outside for a smoke when we’ve been smoking _inside_ the motel room all night. I’d assume he just went out to get a cup of coffee or grab a bite to eat from the diner across the street, but…

Yeah, I’ve got this sinking feeling he’s not coming back.

What did I expect honestly? That he would be waiting for me when I woke up? That he’d tell me he had such a great time last night and ask if we could keep seeing each other? That we’d fall in love, move in together and have some happily ever after bullshit? Yeah fucking right. Guys like me don’t get what they want. They watch _other_ people get it. It wasn’t like I entertained the idea of finding my soulmate in the first guy I slept with anyway. But I had at least hoped he’d leave me his phone number or something. Anything really.

But unfortunately I peel my ass out of bed and look around, only to see nothing but my own clothes strewn across the floor and the plastic bag on the nightstand containing an open box of condoms and lube. If not for those things, I would wonder if I’d imagined the whole thing. But no, it happened. It definitely happened, but obviously Justin regretted it, so he quietly dressed while I was sleeping, then snuck outside and either called up his friend and asked for a ride, or took a taxi cab home. But obviously it didn’t mean enough to him to say goodbye.

I’ll never see him again, will I?

I mean, be honest. What are the odds we’ll ever meet up somewhere? I’m thinking they’re slim to none.

As I’m dressing, I check to make sure I still have money in my wallet. I do, and at least he didn’t rob me of anything but my dignity. Just left me feeling used, if nothing else. I shrug on my clothes with a frown, toss the items I bought in the trash can nearby, then swipe the card key and head outside. I drop the key at the service window, then head to my car. I plug in my vape to charge and sit with the engine running, thinking. Incessantly biting my nails as I replay the whole night from start to finish. I mean…was it something I said? Something I did?

He said I was really intense last night. Was I… _too_ intense? Oh fucking whatever. What’s the point in agonizing over this shit really. Just because I felt like he was fucking _perfect_ for me…maybe I was wrong about that too. Maybe it was just all the weird ways he reminded me of Justin Macintosh and made me feel kind of like I had my ultimate fantasy fulfilled. I mean, the kid I crushed on in highschool, I don’t know if it’s right to say it was _just_ a crush because I mean…he stuck with me for _years_ after we graduated, and obviously I still think about him.

Maybe I was just projecting my feelings for the old Justin onto the recent one, and seeing a connection that wasn’t really there because in my mind it was the closest I’d get to ever having the real thing. You know, like finally having the “one that got away”. I don’t know. But I know I can’t sit in this parking lot forever, so eventually I shift into drive and take off, absently reaching to turn on the radio and zone out to music while I search for the closest interstate access ramp. I do the smart thing as I make the long two and a half hour drive back to my hometown.

I think about what I’m going to do next. That’s really all I can do. I can’t look behind me and keep dwelling on a past I can’t change, so I think ahead to the conversation I’ll be forced to have with Melissa. I have to go to the apartment eventually to pack my stuff, but where I’m going to stay, I still don’t know. I have a few friends that I don’t think would mind me crashing on their couch for a few days, and there’s always Smoke. His house is always open to people, and now that Andy has moved in with his girlfriend, the couch is available.

I would have absolutely no privacy whatsoever, but it would be preferable to sleeping in my car. Plus if I’m not mistaken, it’s actually illegal here. I know right? Who in the hell makes it illegal to sleep in your own damned car? Well, they do in my town. At least, they make it impossible to park your car over night in public places. So it would have to be a friend’s driveway I holed up in. I already blew a good chunk of my paycheck on that motel room last night. I can’t get through the week if I keep doing that. Not with having the expenses I currently do.

So I wrack my brain as I drive, tucking my vape machine between my legs when I’m not puffing on it, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel to Stone Temple Pilots and bobbing my head to the marathon of their songs the radio DJ cycles through. Just trying to keep from thinking about last night. But I mean, one good thing came out of it. I realized how much happier and more fulfilled I would be in a relationship with another guy, and sleeping with Justin at least helped me make up my mind on that subject. It was a stepping stone for me.

Because I will never go back to sleeping with women, ever again.

I just…maybe need to find another guy to invest in, and not hold my breath for Justin.

But it really is too bad though, because I mean…

Goddamn he was hot, and the sight of him underneath me will be forever seared into my brain, that’s for sure.

* * *

I stopped at a convenience store when I pulled into town, grabbed a cup of coffee and filled up on gas, but added one more thing to the list. Yeah, I bought a pack of cigarettes? I know, I know, but sharing them with Justin last night kind of made me want one today, and my vape just isn’t cutting it. So I broke down and bought a pack of menthols. Don’t know if it’s the same brand, but they taste similar, and yeah it looks like I’m smoker now. This will in no way help me forget about Justin either. So I’m pretty much fucked, huh?

But I’m taking the last puff of a cigarette before I toss it out the window as I’m pulling into the drive that leads to my apartment. I get frustrated because someone is already parked in my spot, and I recognize the truck. It’s a muddy, dented Ford pick-up belonging to a guy by the name of Rodney Hicks, and I’ve no doubt in my mind he stayed over last night. I’m not jealous in the slightest that Melissa fucked somebody. (I mean I obviously did too.) What, did I expect her to pine for me? Being gay and not attracted to her in the slightest? No.

It doesn’t upset me that she invited a guy over on a rebound. But what pisses me off is the _guy_ she picked. I mean, the dude’s a real asshole. I don’t know if you guys remember, but it’s the same redneck asshole that knocked Calvin’s teeth in, back in part one. You remember him now? Yeah, it’s _that_ guy. Melissa has known him for several years, longer than she’s known me, and if I recall correctly they used to fuck around way back when, before either I or Stoney even entered the picture. Guess he’s single now too, or his girlfriend’s outta town.

But goddamn man, Melissa could do _so_ much better than this asshole. The guy doesn’t even have a job. He fakes having a disability to collect a check from the government so he doesn’t have to actually work to earn an honest living. Yeah I know what you’re thinking. “But Tee, what makes you think he’s faking it?” Well, how about the fact that he _claims_ he has chronic back pain and can’t do any heavy lifting, yet I’ve seen this asshole hauling all his junk and spare parts in the back of his pick-up, and do side work for extra cash under-the-table.

He’s perfectly capable of working a normal job, but simply doesn’t because one, he’s lazy, and two, he doesn’t want to have to take a drug test. And now I bet you’re asking, “Well how the fuck does he get away with that shit?” ‘Cause the fuckin’ doctor he got to sign a waver and write him a script for pain pills is related to him and doesn’t even fucking care. Crooked as shit. To make me dislike him even more, he’s also related to one of the deputies in the Sheriff’s Department, so he gets away with damned near anything in this town.

He’s been let off the hook for more assault charges and drug related charges than you would even believe, and I hate that shit. But here he is, in my apartment, fucking my now ex girlfriend. As if my day couldn’t be worse. It’s not like I have a fear that Melissa did it on purpose, you know, invited a guy over that’s fucking prejudiced as hell after finding out I’m gay, so he can fuck me up or some shit. She’s not even like that. She has zero issues with gay people, whatsoever. Matter of fact, Melissa’s got more gay friends than I do. 

(They’re just all online, mostly, though if I recall correctly, Sam is supposed to be bi or something. I distinctly remember her having a girlfriend.)

But if Melissa told Rodney the reason we’re breaking up is because I told her I’m gay, I know I’m in for a world of trouble. It’s _my_ apartment, and I can just kick him out if he says something I don’t like, but that doesn’t mean it won’t cause problems for me later on, in future chapters. I just… I fucking hate this guy so much. I get it, I’m a loser too, and I’m a blue collar boy who’s one shitty country song away from being a redneck myself, but this guy is just the epitome of every bad representation of country boys and rednecks in movies all rolled into one character.

I’m not happy and it shows when I climb out of my car, lock the shit behind me, then shuffle up the fire escape leading to the upstairs apartment on the second floor. The first thing I see when I unlock the door and opens it is the ugliest pair of boots covered in inch-thick mud, stinking up my living room, and I scoff at the sight. The second is the state of my apartment, and I’m equally–if not _more_ –unhappy to see what a wreck it is. Looks like Rodney’s been here all night, and made himself at home, as I suspected. The place is a total dump.

It appears that they’re still sleeping and didn’t even hear me come in. I wander to the kitchen and snoop around. I see a few empty beer bottles sitting on the counter and an empty box beside the trashcan, instead of in it, because someone was too lazy to break the box down so it would fit inside. What appears to be a half burnt _something_ in a pot on the stove. Melissa probably tried to make food, forgot about it at some point because she was drunk, and overcooked it. Looks partially eaten, but largely gone to waste. Smells like it was supposed to be rice.

As I’m opening the fridge to find something to snack on, Melissa comes out of the bedroom, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of underwear, hair a crazy mess, and looking hungover as fuck. She stops when she sees me, and blinks her eyes wide open. “You’re back,” she says to me, and I straighten from where I’ve been bent over, leering at everything in the fridge. She doesn’t look angry that I’m here. More like nervous than anything else. She picks at her nails for a moment. I close the refrigerator door and lean against the counter, folding my arms.

“I do happen to live here still,” I comment, and she purses her lips like she _wants_ to tell me off, but she knows she can’t. It’s true, I do live here still, and I pay half the rent. “If you didn’t want me just walking right in like I own the place, should’ve changed the locks.”

She rolls her eyes at that. “I’m not gonna lock you out of your own apartment,” she scoffs. Then she shuffles over to the coffee pot, meaning to make her morning coffee. “I just didn’t expect you to be here, that’s all.”

“Why not? All my stuff is here.”

“I dunno, I just thought you’d still be, you know, off somewhere figuring everything out.”

“Fucking some guy, you mean,” I say, and she shifts uncomfortably, but nods. “Yeah well…”

We stare awkwardly at each other for a minute. She looks like she really doesn’t know what to say to me, and I honestly don’t know what to say either. I hadn’t really a plan of what to say to her, but I knew the conversation had to happen. I just expected a lot more yelling and throwing things at my head though. But Melissa seems pretty calm and accepting of things right now, which is weird. Guess _I’m_ the asshole, because I assumed she’d take this pretty badly, and I mean yes, she was upset yesterday, but who wouldn’t be when their boyfriend dumps them.

But now we’re just here, standing in the kitchen, awkward and quiet, but not fighting or anything, and for a split second it’s like nothing happened. Then Melissa breaks the silence with, “So you’re moving out? Or like, do you want me to move out, or…”

“No, I don’t want you to move out,” I say, shaking my head. “I couldn’t do that to you. I’m just gonna pack my stuff and crash on a friend’s couch or something.”

“No, don’t do that,” she says, turning to the cabinet to reach for a cup. Then, as she pours sugar and creamer into the coffee mug, she says, “You can stay here until you find an apartment. You don’t have to leave or anything. I’m not expecting you to. I just didn’t know what you wanted to do. I’m not saying you have to move out, Tee.”

I snort at that. “You’d honestly want me staying here even after everything I told you yesterday? I haven’t changed my mind, Liss. It’s not like I’m here because I want you to take me back. Everything I said yesterday is still true.” She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, like she just can’t stand hearing that, but then takes a deep breath through her nose, like she’s summoning all her strength to face it. “Plus I kind of figured you wouldn’t want your ex boyfriend crashing on the couch while your current boyfriend’s in the bedroom. Kinda weird.”

She snaps her eyes open to roll them at me. “Jesus Christ, Tee,” she huffs as she pours her coffee. “I’m not trying to move some guy in here.”

“Well you do have Rodney Hicks back there in the bedroom, currently. I’m not dumb, Melissa. I know you guys fucked last night, and he’s the biggest homophobe on the planet, just FYI. How do you think he’s going to react when he wakes up and sees me here?”

She runs her fingers through her hair, then mumbles, “It’s not like I told him why we broke up. And besides, we just fucked, that’s all. It’s not like it’s serious or anything, and he knows that. He knows all I wanted from him last night was sex, and he’s leaving as soon as gets up. He doesn’t mean anything to me.” She says that like I _need_ an explanation for her actions, like she feels she _owes_ me one or something. Like I really care who she fucked or what they mean to her, but… Goddamn, Rodney fucking Hicks? I mean fucking _come on_.

“Yeah well, you could do much better than him anyway,” I say.

“I _had_ better, but he told me he’s gay,” Melissa smarts, and I can only sigh at that. 

I mean, fuck, it’s true, ain’t it?

I’m just about to change the subject when another voice can be heard from the entryway to the kitchen, grumbling in a thick accent, “Who’s gay now?” Of course it’s Rodney because who else would it be. He comes stumbling into the kitchen in nothing but his blue jeans, but of course he’s still got his Dallas Cowboys ball cap on his head. (Really dude? We’re not even in Texas.) I’m not threatened in least by his punk ass really. The dude’s only like 5’7 or 8 and has to crane his neck to even look me in the eye. Super out of shape too, and I’m fairly healthy.

 _(Ish_. Healthy- _ish_. I admit I'm no Adonis. But I do a lot of heavy lifting on a daily basis, and could probably bench press _two_ Rodneys without breaking a sweat. Just saying.)

He’s only about my age, but already he’s got a bit of a beer gut from all the drinking he does. He’s not the _ugliest_ guy I’ve ever seen; I have unfortunately seen much worse hanging around town. But if you’re drunk enough, or squint really hard when you look at him, I guess I can kinda see why Melissa would fuck him. He looks like somebody chewed up Bradley Cooper and spit him out, then kicked him around a little, just for shits. Gave him a can of snuff and a beer, then sent him on his way. “Nobody,” Melissa mumbles as he wanders over to the coffee pot.

“Hmph,” he huffs. “Goddamn faggots takin’ over the goddamn country,” he mumbles and I clench my jaw tightly. He acts like he just now noticed me in the room and does a double take as he’s grabbing a coffee mug. “The hell are you doin’ here?” he asks me as he makes a cup of coffee, like he lives here now too or something. “Thought y’all broke up.”

Again, I say, “I do still live here.”

“Heh, not for long, huh?” he quips, smirking at me. Or, more like gloating actually. “Looks like your ass has done been replaced.”

I open my mouth to say something, but Melissa beats me to the punch with, “Shut the fuck up.” She blows a little on her hot coffee, then adds, “You ain’t replacing shit. I already told you that.”

Rodney hardly takes offense, just continues to make coffee, saying with a smile, “Weren’t singin’ that tune last night.” Then he chuckled, looks at me, and says, “Somebody ain’t been doin’ too good a job at takin' care o’ her, ‘cause _boy_ lemme tell ya, she sure did miss this dick last night.” Then he blows on his coffee mug next, leaning against the counter like we’re all friends here, just enjoying some polite conversation. I see what he’s doing here. He’s trying to get a rise out of me. But it’s just not working, because I just don’t give two shits.

I am entirely too apathetic for his bullshit, sadly.

Really the only problem I have right now is with the way he talks about the gay community. I really wanted to lay into his ass when he said faggot, and the only reason I haven’t is because I know what the consequences would be. It would not make things better for myself or anyone else to beat the shit out of Rodney’s homophobic ass. Though I suspect that’s entirely his problem. Not enough people stand up to him, so he thinks he can just talk and act however he wants. Consequences be damned, because for people like Rodney, there are none.

“Oh I’m sure she did,” I say, emotionless and expressionless, as I reach in my pocket for my cigarettes and light one up. With a flick of the cherry red Bic lighter I purchased, smoke wafts through the air between us. “But obviously not enough to ever keep your ass around on a permanent basis.”

For just a split second, his smile falters. I hit him where it hurt. Because, see, this is why they never worked out as a couple. Rodney’s been obsessed with Melissa as long as they’ve known each other, so she tells me. Would bend over backwards and literally do anything for her if she asked (except get a fucking job) because the dumbass is so in love with her it’s ridiculous, but Melissa has never wanted anything more from Rodney than to fuck around on occasion, when no one else is available. That has to sting a little, but he quickly covers it up with another lively grin.

“Well, evidently, the same could be said of you,” he tells me, holding up his coffee mug in salute. 

_Oh Melissa, Melissa, what the fuck did you tell him last night?_ I think, but keep it entirely to myself and just shoot her a judgmental look instead. In turn, Melissa hides a sheepish look of her own behind her cup. Apparently her drunk ass talked a bunch of shit about me last night. It really shouldn’t surprise me. I learned a long time ago Melissa can’t keep anything to herself (I’m wholly surprised she _didn’t_ blurt out that I’m gay) and will gossip about literally anything. Including her relationship. Spreads personal business to anyone that will listen.

It takes everything in me not to react beyond a little glaring, but I manage, and take my cigarette with me to the living room, hearing Melissa say to my back, “Since when do _you_ smoke?” To which I don’t reply. Just flop down on the couch and flip on the tv, channel surfing until Rodney’s insufferable ass finally finishes his coffee, then gets dressed and leaves. It’s quiet when he’s gone, because neither I nor Melissa have much to say to each other, apparently. Now that we’re officially not together, there’s nothing more to discuss.

* * *

I crash on the couch that night. I would take Melissa up on her offer of just sleeping on the bed still, but platonically, you know, like as friends and shit, except it just doesn’t feel right. It feels too much like I’m just settling back into my old life and my old routine like nothing has changed, like I’m still “straight” and Melissa’s still my girlfriend, and what I shared with Justin in the motel room last night never even happened. I can’t do that to myself, or Melissa. I can’t confuse her right now, and I can’t go back to pretending anymore. I just can’t.

But Melissa and I stay up until about eleven or so, binge watching re-run after re-run of shit like Family Guy and American Dad, because nothing better is on. She slowly sips on the remainder of the beer she bought last night, steadily getting plastered. This _has_ to be weird for her. I mean, this can’t be fucking normal. The post break-up drinking phase, only the gay ex boyfriend you’re trying to move on from is sitting right there on the couch. Fucking crazy, right? But yeah. We watch some tv, then around eleven, Melissa finally crashes.

Things are fine for the first hour or so. I’m not tired still, so I curl up with an extra pillow and blanket, listening to music I downloaded on my phone. I have every Crossfade album on CD, but I also downloaded some to my phone to listen to at work when cranky old Robby Miller wants to run his mouth and talk incessantly over the music on the radio and I get tired of listening to him. So there I am on my couch with a pair of wireless headphones in, tapping my feet to Starless, from their title album, and I don’t hear anything else, when Melissa…

Decides she wants to have _sex_.

Yeah, you read that shit correctly. I don’t hear her leave the bedroom, and my eyes are closed as I’m cycling through music, when suddenly I feel someone climb on top of me. I jolt, eyes snapping open as a drunken, horny Melissa straddles me on the couch, running her hands over my neck and shoulders, then leans in to kiss me. “The fuck are you doing?” I ask, ripping my headphones off, then holding an arm up between us to hold her back and keep her from pressing her lips to mine. 

She pouts at me, sticking out her bottom lip like a two year old, and keeps rubbing my chest.

“Oh come on, babe, I’m _horny_ ,” she whines at me. “Just ’cause we’re broke up now don’t mean we can’t fuck around, does it?”

“Liss, did you forget the fact that I’m _gay_?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “You’re _not_ gay, Tee,” she denies, and suddenly it clicks in my head that she _still_ doesn’t fully believe I’m telling the truth, that I’m really not attracted to her. Like she thinks the hard on I got whenever I was horny and wanted to bang was for her, and _not_ for whatever guy I was picturing in my head. She ruts against me a little, grinding her pelvis against my groin, but that shit doesn’t even remotely turn me on, despite her best attempts to be sultry and seductive. “If you were actually gay, you wouldn’t have even been able to get it up for me.”

“I was _faking_ it, Melissa,” I explain as I sit up and try to shove her off my lap.

“No, no you weren’t,” she stubbornly persists, groping me.

“Melissa stop–”

“Baby please–”

“I said stop!!” I snap, finally losing my cool and she flinches, drawing away from me, then curls up in a ball and hugs herself, bursting into tears. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. I can’t stay here with you.” I don’t even give Melissa a moment to calm down and form proper words. I immediately get up and head to the bedroom. I root through the closet until I find an old duffle bag I used when we first moved in, before we got dressers and shit, then I start shoving clothes in it. By myself, I don’t have much stuff really, so there’s not a lot of packing to do.

When the bag is full, I take it outside, unlock my trunk and toss it in. Then I go back for more. I really only worry about essential items for now, thinking maybe I can come back for the rest when Melissa’s had more time to process. But I fetch my Gibson from the closet, slinging the case strap over my shoulder and I grab _another_ bag that was buried in the bottom of the closet, under some of Melissa’s things. It’s a black leather bag that sort of resembles a tool case, containing items that Liss never particularly cared for, and probably won’t miss.

Not that I think I’ll find a guy that likes whips and paddles and such where I’m going, but I know Melissa, who’s not really that into bdsm anyway, won’t have much use for it. So I toss that in my trunk next and place my electric guitar in the back seat. Not that _I’ll_ have much use for _that_ , but the son of a bitch cost me way too much money, which is why I never pawned it, even though I really _don’t_ play much anymore. All the while I load up my car, Melissa stays huddled on the couch, sniffling, but as I’m leaving, mumbles, “I’m sorry.” 

As if _that_ will fix anything.

But before I close the door one final time, I say, “I’m sorry too.” 

Because I really am.

And then I’m gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Invincible"–Crossfade](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=LD5-ERDYpoQ&feature=share)
> 
> Check out TK's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-3q4InjDkADTzrXYMyFNLg)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)
> 
> Join the Discord: <https://discord.gg/wVFt8Ke5YN>


	7. Avantgarde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Dude this shit is kinda freaky.”_
> 
> _“How do you mean?”_
> 
> _“You’re gay, atheist, like rock music, sing and play guitar. I’m gay, also atheist, and also sing and play guitar.”_
> 
> _“Yeah it’s one helluva coincidence. It’s almost like the author did that shit on purpose, huh?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mack's Anthem: ["Loser"–Beck](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=e904xBnyEGw&feature=share)

At seven thirty the following morning, a beat up Chevy Silverado pulls up to the curb next to the house I’m parked in front of, the engine shuts off, and a man steps out of it, wearing a worn flannel shirt, unbuttoned and thrown on over a ratty t-shirt currently sporting a ketchup stain. Jeans covered in paint and plaster from various jobs, and construction boots just as worn out and faded as the rest of his clothes. His long hair is swept back in a low pony tail, his face covered in a thick, dark beard.

He burps grossly after taking one last sip from his Coke can, then crushes it and tosses it in the bed of his truck. Then he eyes my parked Fiero curiously. Yeah, see I parked in front of the house my boss and I are supposed to work on today, and since the owner’s not home, the driveway was empty. But my boss, the asshole I just described, is standing there and scratching his head, trying to figure out why the fuck I’m there so fucking early. Usually he gets to the job site before anyone else.

But not today, obviously. He stares for another second or two before he wanders over to the driver’s side of my car and bangs his fist on the window, barking, “Police! Get out of the car!!” Jolting me awake, as I’ve been passed out in the seat. Yeah, I slept in my car last night. “Goddamn it, Mack!” I curse, making him burst with maniacal laughter at me. “You fuckin’ asshole!” I straighten my seat, as it was reclined back previously, then I open the door and stumble out of my car. 

“Dude, you scared the shit out of me!” I shove him one good time, but as big as he is, it only moves him a couple of feet, and he laughs again. “The fuck are you doing here?” I ask him, and he shrugs.

“Well, I reckon the author just wasn’t ready to let go of me as a character, and felt I had more to contribute to the story, so they signed me on as the supportive sagely one that gives ya sound advice on occasion.”

I snort at that. “I see Twitch’s fourth wall breaks are starting to rub off on you.”

“Yep, that may very well be the case. But I have a _better_ question. The fuck are _you_ doin’ here, so goddamn early? Wasn’t expectin’ ya to be here ‘til eight.” 

I rub the sleep from my eyes and grumble, “Slept in my car last night.”

“Well damn,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Melissa kicked ya out?”

“Nah,” I say, shaking my head. “I left. Figured it was kinda too late last night to go bother Smoke, just to have a couch to crash on, so I just came here.”

“Well, shit,” he quips. He starts to pull a cigarette from his pocket. “Damn, man, I didn’t even know y’all were fightin’ about shit.”

“No, we weren’t fighting or anything really, I just… it was one of those, ‘Its not you, it’s me,’ kind of situations.”

Mack lights his cigarette and takes a puff. Then, cigarette still in his mouth, comments, “That makes sense. I could kinda tell y’all weren’t really right for each other. I’m amazed you lasted with her as long as you did.”

I shrug at that. “So where’s Robbie at?” I ask, changing the subject, mostly because I don’t want his ass showing up when I’m right dead in the middle of telling Mack I’m gay. We work with an asshole named Robbie Miller that’s pretty much an older version of Rodney Hicks. It’s not like I’ve ever heard him say words like faggot in conversation, but he’s really old fashioned, and ever since he found out Mack is married to another man–which obviously makes him gay as hell–he hasn’t been the same.

He’s been _worse_.

He’s one of those conservative right-wing anti LGBT+ community types, though he’d never have the balls to say fucked up shit directly to Mack’s face about any of it. But he was already an asshole, and now he’s even worse. Slips in little comments here and there that I just _know_ are because Mack’s gay and he hates that shit. Thinks it’s disgusting for two men to be together. Like, you can’t call him out on that shit without him saying, ‘Look man, that’s just my opinion.’ 

But it’s just... _man_ he’s just an asshole. 

Yet, despite that, Mack still hasn’t fired him yet, because–according to Mack–just _having_ an asshole opinion, but not actually _acting_ on that opinion, is not a good enough excuse to make someone lose their livelihood like that. Which I kind of understand. 

But Mack tells me, “He ain’t comin’ in today. Just gonna be you and me.”

“Well shit, what’s wrong with him? He sick or somethin’?”

“Nope,” Mack says. “I fired his ass.”

“For real?”

Mack nods. 

“Yup. You know how my tools kept comin’ up missin’? It was him. Swore up an’ fuckin’ down I must’ve just misplaced ‘em or some shit, but then I see tools sittin’ the trunk of his car that coincidentally look exactly like mine? And he wanted me to believe he actually bought ‘em his goddamn self, but I fuckin’ _know_ better.” 

I raise a brow at all that. I can’t say Robbie will be missed, and I bet having that excuse to fire him was a blessing in disguise for Mack. But it’ll suck having to hang drywall and spackle that shit with just two people.

“Damn,” is all I can say to that.

“Yep. You gonna be able to pick up his slack today? ‘Cause we still gotta have it done by the end of the week.”

“I’ll do my best,” I promise.

Mack nods once, then claps me on the shoulder and says, “Good man.”

I jerk my head in a nod too. I look Mack over, from top to bottom as I reach in my pocket for the pack of menthols that are starting to get crushed in my pocket. The dude just amazes me really. I still struggle to believe sometimes that he’s actually gay, you know? But he is. One hundred percent. When it came out in conversation that’s he’s married to a guy, I asked him if he was bi or pan or something and he said no. Wasn’t attracted to women in the slightest. 

And just _look_ at him, man. Looks like every other straight-as-hell blue collar boy in this town, with his scruffy appearance and just all around ‘straight guy’ personality. I mean I know I’m just stereotyping shit, but like… nothing about him ever screamed gay to me, working with him the last few years. I dunno, maybe I’m just not his type, so he looks at me like every other person he’s not attracted to, therefore not putting off any vibes because he’s not trying to. 

Because his type is an asshole named Twitch. Oh yeah, yeah me and Mack’s husband go way back. I knew him before he was ever even given that stupid nickname, and everybody just called him Lenny. Leonard or Mr. Bordeaux by all the teachers. We both graduated class of ’09, and hang in similar friend groups. Can’t really say he and I are really that close? But it’s a small town, so we’re all interconnected and know each other somehow, some way. 

But Lenny… dated Mack’s _brother_ first.

_Justin Macintosh._

Though, I didn’t know they’d _dated_ all that time, until last year. 

Just thought they were roommates. But I bet you could imagine my shock when I heard he posted that shit on Facebook. Justin calling out his now _ex_ boyfriend over some bullshit argument between them. Justin _having_ a boyfriend. Confirming every suspicion I’d ever had of Justin being gay while he was at it. Dredging up fantasies I had as a teenager of Justin Macintosh climbing in my lap and straddling me, pulling off his glasses and…

“Hey man, you alright?” Mack asks me, snapping me out of my drifting thoughts and I blink.

(Damn, looks like I can’t stop think about _either_ Justin, can I?)

“What? Oh. Yeah. Yeah I’m alright. I’m just tired. Need some coffee and shit. My ass ain’t slept all that well in that car.”

“Well, hop in the truck with me and I’ll take ya to Mickey D’s or somethin’. Getchya some breakfast and coffee in ya, before we get started.”

“Alright,” I agree, then follow Mack when he turns and heads back to his truck. Man I must be the luckiest person in the world to have such a chill boss like Mack. Like, they really don’t make ‘em like him, that’s for sure… So we get to McDonald’s, right? Pull up to the drivethru window, place our order, then pull up a little further and Mack shifts into park while we wait for the people ahead of us to pay for their food at the first window. 

It’s gonna take a minute, as ahead of us, they’re having cars pull ahead and park in an empty parking spot to wait for an employee to bring their food to them. Backed up like crazy, so Mack turns on the radio and lights up another smoke. Then, just to make conversation I suppose, he asks me, “So how come you broke up with Melissa?” And now is my moment. I smirk a little in the passenger’s seat, shooting him a glance as I speak.

“Well… partly because of you,” I say, confusing the hell out of Mack.

“The hell do I have to do with anything?”

I chuckle. “Because you’re married to a guy.”

“Well, yeah? So what?”

“ _So…_ you being open about your relationship like that, well… I guess you could say it inspired me. You know, to finally do the same. To come out of the closet, I mean. And… so I finally told her I’m gay.”

Mack’s eyes widen at that, and he starts to grin at me. “Well, goddamn man!” he says. “I was startin’ to wonder if you were ever gonna fess up to that shit. Figured you were maybe just bisexual though, so not much of a point in makin’ a big deal outta shit.” He flicks the ashes off his cigarette through the open window. “Figured maybe since you were happy with Melissa, ya didn’t wanna start no drama over bein’ attracted to other men an’ all.”

Hearing that makes me a little self conscious for a second, and I ask, “So you could tell, huh?”

Mack shrugs a shoulder. “Well I suspected it. Weren’t like you made it obvious or nothin’. So you’re out, and free and single now, huh?”

“Yup.” _Unfortunately_. “Free as a bird.”

The line ahead of us moves one car length, so Mack shifts into drive and slowly pulls forward. When he stops and shifts into park, he pays for our food and coffee with his debit card, then rolls the window back up. After that, he asks, “So, outta curiosity–and it really none of my business, so you can just tell me to shut the fuck up–but what’s your type?”

I sigh a little at that. Embarrassingly, I admit, “Your brother.”

Mack lifts a brow. “No shit?”

“No shit,” I nod. “Like, I had a huge thing for him, back in highschool.” Still do, I guess.

“You know his ass is queer too, right?” Mask says and I chuckle again.

“So I’d heard.”

Eventually the line moves again and we get told the same jargon by the lady at the window, “Pull around and someone will bring your food out to you. Sorry for the wait.” Then we get our food. I’d say having to wait so long to get breakfast and coffee is really the only downside to the morning. Otherwise it’s pretty fantastic, and just what I needed after the hell I went through yesterday. Mack and I bullshit about our similar experiences dealing with our sexuality.

Mack’s not usually very conversational like this, but I chalk it up to being on account of Mack somewhat liking me as a coworker. Probably not wanting to make me feel like I can’t talk about it either. Like, not like he’s saying, “Yeah, sure, we both like men, but don’t make it weird and start talkin’ my goddamn ear off about it like some chick.” He’s not saying that at all. He asks me questions, gives me his own thoughts on the subject. It’s kinda nice, kind of like when I first told him I’m atheist.

I thought he would be weird about it, because most people in this town, even when they’re not particularly religious, or particularly _righteous_ individuals, still believe in the Christian god, in this predominantly Christian town, and get weirded out over atheism. Treat people that have no religious beliefs whatsoever like Satanists or something. Like we’re literally goddess heathens that have no moral compass whatsoever. But Mack admitted to being atheist too.

But see I didn’t really figure it would matter that much to Mack to know the details of my sexuality crisis and shit. But he’s kind of different now that he’s married. Like, more sociable than he ever used to be. Twitch keeps him pretty happy and it shows. He’s way more relaxed, and far less closed off, than he ever used to be. I’m super fucking jealous of him, for that reason. Like, Mack kind of has it all and I can only hope I get to be that lucky one day.

But I digress. All in all, we have a good conversation. Then Loser by Beck comes on the radio.

“Oh I love this song,” says Mack, cranking up the volume.

“Me too, man. Me too.” We laugh over forgetting half the lyrics of the verses, but when the chorus comes on, we sing loudly and obnoxiously at the top of our lungs along with the band, “Soy un perdedor!! I’m a loser babyyyy, so why don’tchya kill meeee!!” Mack’s actually got a pretty good singing voice. And later that morning, he turns out to be an even _better_ friend than I ever expected he would be. It’s starts with him getting a phone call from Twitch.

There we are in the house we’re working on, after I went to the bathroom and changed into my work clothes. I’m now in my Carhartt jeans, work boots and a beater, and holding up drywall while Mack screws it in place. A heavy metal song starts playing in his pocket (You can be 99.9% certain it’s a Slipknot song.) So we pause in what we’re doing so he can answer his phone. “Hey baby, what’s goin’ on?” he answers with, then says, “Yeah, he’s right here. Let me put you on speaker.”

Then, coming from the phone, I hear an angry male voice shrill, “What the actual fucking _fuck_ , dude, you’re _gay_?!!” Causing Mack to cover his mouth, containing laughter.

“Did you tell him?” I ask Mack.

But he shakes his head, meaning no, and it’s Twitch that says, “Andy told me that shit.”

“Andy knows?!” I shriek in confusion.

“Yeah man, apparently Stoney called him up last night and told him you came out to him and Smoke the other day?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, man! How many other people did he tell?!”

“Just Amy and Andy… and Trevor. And Lee and Nay too, I think. Which means Shad probably knows, but none of them fucking care, like, you ain’t gotta worry about ‘em. But dude, what the actual fuck! Like you’re seriously actually gay and shit?! Like, one hundred percent gay and not even remotely attracted to chicks?!”

“Yeah?”

“How the _fuck_ do I never know these things about my friends?!”

This time, Mack snorts, then interjects to say, “Hey lemme take you off speaker and talk to you about somethin’ real quick.” He taps the screen of his phone. “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs to me, then steps out of the room we’re in to talk to his husband privately for a minute. I wait around, scrolling through my phone while they talk. (Scrolling through Reddit. I don’t do Facebook bullshit.) When Mack is done, I hear, “Love you too, bye,” as he walks back in the room.

“Everything alright?” I ask, slipping my phone back in my pocket.

“Well, it oughta be. Len says he’s okay with it.”

“Okay with what?”

“Well,” He scratches his head, “You’re currently stuck crashin’ on couches until you find a place to live, right? Well, we got that spare bedroom at the house. Used to be Lenny’s, when he was a kid, and it ain’t really bein’ used. Don’t have a bed though, but I reckon you won’t mind a couple days on the couch until we can get one, will ya? We can drive over to Ashley Furniture this weekend and pick one up. So whaddya think?”

I blink rapidly. “Wait you mean I could stay with you guys?”

“Well yeah? You can stay as long as you need to. I mean, long as you don’t mind helpin’ out around the house and buyin’ groceries. Won’t charge ya much for rent, that way you can get some money saved up for an apartment and shit.”

“I… Shit, thank you,” I say, in shock and sincere awe of his generosity–though at this point, should it really surprise me?–and reach to shake his hand.

He grasps mine firmly. “No problem, man,” he nods. “Well, let’s get back to it,” he says next, gesturing to the unfinished drywall nearby.

And just like that, I’ve become Mack and Twitch’s new roommate.

* * *

Later that day, instead of taking my usual route back to mine and Melissa’s apartment, I follow Mack’s truck to his and Lenny’s house on Main Street. I’ve been here before, actually. Not since they’ve moved in, but when Mack first bought the place, I helped him tear out the old disgusting carpet, ruined by the previous owners, and we did some sanding and painting and shit too. Put in new cabinets. He had to hire somebody else to help him with the wiring though.

Neither one of us are licensed electricians, so we typically bring in someone else if we ever run into electrical work on a job. But yeah, I helped Mack fix up the place. Didn’t know he was doing it for Twitch though. Just knew he needed some help. But it was hardly a surprise once I put two and two together and realized the house he was fixing up was his soon-to-be fiancé’s childhood home. Which is just insanely fucking romantic, by the way.

So anyway, we get to the house and I park my car where Mack instructs me, at the end of the lane, as the empty spot beside Mack’s truck needs to stay open for Lenny’s Nissan. Then he helps me move my bags into the house. He gets curious about the electric guitar in the back seat, and when we get inside, I then understand why. There, in the corner of the living room, sitting beside an open case, is an old Washburn acoustic. “That Twitch’s guitar?”

“Nah it’s mine, actually,” he says.

“You play guitar?”

“Sometimes yeah. Not professionally though. Never really had much of a taste for the spotlight. But I tinker with it on occasion… My dad bought me that thing when I was thirteen, and thought maybe I might wanna learn how to play, since I liked to sing and shit, like my mom. What about you?”

“Eh,” I shrug. “I mean, that SG cost me damned near four grand when I bought it new. So I kinda don’t want to get rid of that kind of investment, but as far playing it… I just…” Oh damn, how to explain it. “…I just don’t have the passion for it like I used to.”

“I feel ya on that,” he says. “Took me years to work up the nerve to pick that Washburn back up after dad died. I really only started playin’ it consistently again as of last year. Lenny likes it.” He chuckles and shakes his head, adding, “Don’t know why though, because I sound like shit.”

“I’ll be the judge of that when I hear it.”

“Oh you probably will once my ass is lit up on Jack Daniels,” he says.

“Looking forward to it,” I quip, and he sighs at me. But I’m kind of freaked out now. “Dude this shit is kinda freaky.”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re gay, atheist, like rock music, sing and play guitar. I’m gay, also atheist, and also sing and play guitar.”

“Yeah it’s one helluva coincidence. It’s almost like the author did that shit on purpose, huh?”

I snort. Almost, yeah. Because I mean… doesn’t that sound a little suspicious to you? That we have so much in common? What do you wanna bet that shit was part of the plot? 

So we finish taking my stuff out of my car and storing it in the guest bedroom, then I use the bathroom. I haven’t seen it either since Mack first bought the place. Fucking covered in pink flowery wall paper, which makes me snort a little. When I get out of the bathroom, I ask Mack about it. “You know y’all got pink wall paper in your bathroom, right?” He sighs and nods his head, like he’s not thrilled about it either, which tells me Twitch’s weird ass is completely to blame.

“Yeah, Len’s grandma always liked pink and had wallpaper like that in the bathroom when she owned the place, and he wanted to make it look kinda how it did when she lived here, so it would feel like a piece of her was still around, and… well, my ass can’t fuckin’ say no to shit, so we gotta pink bathroom.”

And now I’m laughing. “Jesus, you’re whipped.”

“Yeah, you don’t know the half of it… But I’m into it,” he says with a shrug and a smirk. “Wait ‘til you find out what he named our cats.”

“You have cats?”

“You’re not allergic, are ya?”

“Nah,” but I’m more of a dog person. Don’t get me wrong, cats are fine–all animals are fine–but my dad never let me have a dog growing up, and I always wanted one.

Yeah, so I meet the cats next. They’re hiding in Mack and Lenny’s bedroom because there’s a new person in the house they’ve never smelled before. One of them is a Siamese mix, mostly white with random gray splotches and bright blue eyes, that looks like she wants to murder me, named Tank Girl, or just Tank for short. The other is mostly black, with gray spots, looking like he wants to murder Tank’s tail because it’s flicking, and he’s staring at it hardcore.

“That’s Argyle,” Mack says and I furrow my brow.

“Argyle? Who in the hell names a cat Argyle?”

Mack snorts. “Len, apparently.”

“Why?”

“Well, he said ‘cause he looks like a sock, and I’ve learned better than to ask on that logic.”

I chuckle. I mean, I kind of get it? Like, the shape of the gray spot on his chest does kind of look like a diamond shape you’d see on men’s argyle socks, but it’s just… who names their cat after a sock. For real man. But now I’m pretty much settled in, with the exception of having an actual bed to sleep in, and my clothes are still in bags because there’s no spare dresser either, but I’m here. I’m home, for the moment at least.

But this is where I’ll be sleeping for the remainder of the book.

Now time to introduce the insufferable author to the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Invincible"–Crossfade](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=LD5-ERDYpoQ&feature=share)
> 
> Check out TK's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-3q4InjDkADTzrXYMyFNLg)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)
> 
> Join the Discord: <https://discord.gg/wVFt8Ke5YN>


	8. Maniac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I won’t lie, I’m low-key terrified of Twitch._
> 
> _Not even ashamed to admit it either._
> 
> _Most people are._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thank you to Cadeucius, for letting me vent about where I was stuck on this chapter, _and_ nearly giving me a concussion from laughing so hard. XD
> 
> Lenny's Song: ["Sound Of Madness"–Shinedown](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=gqM8S4geS5w&feature=share)

I won’t lie, I’m low-key terrified of Twitch. 

Not even ashamed to admit it either.

Most people are.

It’s not that he’s so intimidating in stature or anything, but he’s just so unhinged. He’s one of the most off-the-wall guys you’ll ever meet. He has some kind of behavioral disorder? Makes him go postal at the drop of a hat. But he doesn’t take medication for it because the anti-psychotics fuck him up worse than the actual disorder. When he goes off on people, it’s like he turns into some kind of maniac or something. It doesn’t help that I’ve actually seen him go off on people either, but I have.

You don’t know this, but I was actually _there_ the night he beat up Calvin Hayes. Oh yeah, yeah I saw the whole thing, from start to finish. I’ll even tell you what I saw that night, because this shit was crazy. But there I was, in Smoke’s dining room, taking my turn at the table when everybody decided to break out the solo cups to play some beer pong. Everything was going fine up until that point, just another night, rock music blasting from the stereo in the living room, bodies scattered about, laughing, talking.

I’m partnered up with Andy, across from me is Mack, and right next to him is Twitch. Looking fucking homeless in a black anarchy shirt and basketball shorts, flicking his wrist to toss the ping pong ball into one of the cups set before us, when suddenly we hear shouting coming from the living room. Someone turns the music off too, so the commotion from the living room becomes more noticeable, and I see Twitch leave the table, curious, and walk over to the doorway to see what’s going on.

Then I see him clench his fists, and loudly bark, “Oh _fuck_ no!” Then he takes off, marching into the living room. I join Mack and Andy at the door to the living room to see what’s going on. To watch Twitch flip the coffee table and shit goes flying. There’s Calvin, cornering a kid by the name of Trevor Lockheart over by the stereo. I don’t know Trevor very well, but he’s a good kid. He’s really shy, has like anxiety or some shit, and typically doesn’t talk to anyone he doesn’t know all that well.

A total introvert, which I totally get, because typically I’m the same way unless I’m drunk or stoned and around people I actually like. Much like me, Trevor usually finds a corner of the room to lurk in, or a spot on the edge of the couch, to be in the company of others, but doesn’t actively engage with them. He keeps headphones in his ears so people think he’s listening to music and he doesn’t have to interact with them unless he wants to. Like, if he feels comfortable enough to respond to them.

But Trevor never bothers anyone. He never has anything bad to say about anybody, so when I see Calvin fucking with him, I just can’t fathom Trevor actually deserving it for any reason. When Calvin is threatening to beat him up, man, it just doesn’t make sense to me. But I see Twitch plant himself between the two, nudging the kid back behind him, protectively, like Trevor’s bodyguard, and I hear Calvin say, “Twitch, this motherfucker was eyeballin’ my dick, man!” And he points at Trevor.

Twitch, who just looks _so_ fucking unimpressed by this guy, says, “How? ‘Cause from where I’m standin’, it looks like you ain’t even _got_ one.” Damn. Sick burn too, and so very accurate for this moment, because Trevor is like half his size and it’s such a punk move to go picking a fight with someone smaller than you like that. Over dumb shit too. “Man, won’tchya leave ‘em alone,” Twitch continues. “He ain’t done nothin’ to you. Wontchyou just get the fuck outta here, man. Go take your bullshit somewhere else.”

“Nah, man, it ain’t bullshit!” Calvin swears. “He was fuckin’ starin’ at me, man!”

Yeah, but who fucking cares? Wasn’t like he was coming onto him or trying to fuck him or something, because that I would understand. But he was just looking at him. “So?!” Twitch asks, sharing the sentiment. Calling him out on his paranoid homophobic bullshit. “Whatchyou a problem for, man?”

“He’s a fuckin’ cocksuckin’ fag!” Calvin spouts, and by this point I’m beyond pissed as well. “And you’re takin’ up for him? What, ya some kinda fag too or somethin’?”

But Twitch, the genius bastard he is, just smiles at him with this genuinely creepy smile, gets in his face and says, “Yeah maybe I am. So what? You got a problem with that shit? The fuck you gonna do about it,” he taunts. “Huh? What? You wanna piece of me? Fuckin’ punk ass lil’ bitch?! Whatchyou got?!”

“Better get the hell outta my face, man,” Calvin warns, but see, the thing was, _Calvin_ was the one who should’ve been warned. Somebody should’ve told him, _you don’t fuck with Twitch_.

“Or what, huh?! What’re ya gonna do? Fuckin’ come at me, bro! Show me what you got! I fuckin’ dare you! You fuckin’ limp dicked white trash redneck piece of _fucking_ shit!”

Calvin shoves him at this point, but really he should’ve just knocked him cold, because what happens next is absolute chaos. Twitch gets pushed backwards into Trevor, and Trevor hits the wall behind them. He winces, rubbing the back of his head, and Mack curses beside me, because Twitch suddenly isn’t Twitch anymore. Man, I’m telling you, he just loses his goddamned mind. His smile is replaced by pure unadulterated fucking _rage_ , and he lunges at Calvin with a growl, like some kind of wild animal.

He body checks this asshole and tackles him to the floor, smashing the upturned coffee table in the process, then just _wails_ on him, spraying blood everywhere, all over the both of them, hands and face and honestly it’s the most terrifying shit I’ve ever seen. No lie, he goes full psychopath and is actually laughing his ass off while he hits Calvin, asking him if he _likes_ that shit and if he wants _more_. He’s hitting him, and just _keeps_ hitting him, and it takes Mack pulling him off of Calvin to get him to stop.

Even then, he growls at Mack too, struggling against him and elbowing him in the ribs to get him to let go, making Mack grunt. His best friend, man. The guy that would eventually become his husband. He’s fighting off Mack like the dude’s on _Calvin’s_ side and the look in his eyes, I swear. It’s like the real Lenny Bordeaux is totally absent and was replaced by someone else. Like some real split personality type shit. But after a minute or so he calms down and tells Mack he’s fine, and to let him go.

Stands there shaking, looking around at the room, at everyone staring at him.

It was a crazy night.

But I’ll tell you something even crazier.

I’ll tell you about the night he pulled some fucking Zen Master shit on Rodney Hicks.

Now, this story is also frightening, but yet also oddly satisfying to think about. Just because of how much I hate Rodney’s guts. But still, yeah, terrifying, though in the most beautiful way. So again, we’re all out at Smoke’s house, right? And yeah it’s another party. This was a couple of years ago, right after I came back from touring on the road with my band, and I hadn’t seen Twitch since highschool. Didn’t remember who he was at first, just remember thinking what an asshole he was.

And once more, I was a fly on the wall, so to speak, to the insanity that transpired when Rodney was at Smoke’s house. He was dating some chick named Chelsea at the time, and they get in a fight. Rodney is piss drunk and starts shouting at her. She screams back, and he ends up backhanding her. I don’t go for that shit, man. So I had fully intended on saying something to this bastard, but Twitch, who was closer, and quicker, beats me to the punch. But instead of just talking, his violence is instant.

Without a word said, he walks up to Rodney, grabs him by the collar, and shoves him up against the wall behind him. He pins him there, forearm on his larynx and choking him until he stops struggling. How he is even able to exercise that kind of strength and maintain that hold on Rodney, despite his stature, I don’t have a fucking clue. Must’ve been running on pure adrenaline. But he holds him there, and very calmly tells him some real intellectual shit, like he's teaching a course, on domestic violence.

“You know there’s somethin’ to be said about the kinda guy that puts his hands on a woman,” he says, to a choking, red-faced Rodney Hicks. “Psychologists will say a man like that is really only compensating for his own emotional ineptness and projecting it onto others around him. Now, of course you could probably solve this issue with years of cognitive behavioral therapy and psychotherapy, but I myself don’t have the time, nor the patience or even the _qualifications_ to properly educate your ass–”

He yanks him off the wall and shoves him to the floor.

“So I’ma just do that shit the old fashioned way,” he finishes, then proceeds to beat the ever loving shit out of Rodney before somebody finally pulls him off the guy. Andy, I think. Rodney got in a few swings during the fight, and Len ended up with a busted, bloody nose, but didn’t even really seem to care. Motherfucker must’ve just liked it, because when I point it out to him, that I think his nose might be broken, he just laughed maniacally at me, as if it were so awesome, like the crazy bastard he is.

Yeah, Twitch is certifiably insane, in my book.

So yeah, maybe I’m a little intimidated by him.

Which means that when he pulls into the driveway in a black Nissan that evening, yeah I’m a little tense. I’m sitting on a plastic lawn chair on the front porch, next to Mack and we’ve got the radio on, plugged into an extension chord fed through the window. Suddenly the classic rock on the radio is overpowered by the vibrating hum of a bass line and treble pounding from Twitch’s car. He’s blasting death metal–to no one’s shock or surprise–and after he shuts the car off and steps out, he slams the car door.

But he looks…happy? I guess. At least he doesn’t look pissed about anything. I’m not entirely sure, but he’s smirking as he takes one last hit of his cigarette, snuffs it out on the bottom of his shoe, then makes his way up the steps. He stops in front of me, staring down at me, and he fishes for something from his pocket. I roll my eyes when I see him pull out a rainbow key fob and toss it in my lap. “Welcome to the fuckin’ community,” he quips, still smirking devilishly, and beside me, Mack snorts.

“Goddammit,” I sigh. Regardless, I snatch up the key fob, then stare at it for a second, before pulling my keys from my pocket, fully intending to actually use it, despite how silly the gift is. “Thanks,” I say dryly. He winks. I feel like there are going to be _tons_ of gay jokes in my future…from the last source imaginable. Other gays. Specifically, Mack and Lenny. But I mean, it’s fair, I guess. Lenny turns to Mack next, but instead of a key fob to throw at him, he just has a kiss for him, planting one on his cheek.

Okay. Yeah. No doubt about it. No question whatsoever, that these two are legit husband and husband.

“So your ass really is a fag an’ shit, huh?” Lenny asks me, to which Mack tisks.

“You owe Shad ten bucks, baby,” he says to him, and I’m confused.

“Ah shit, I said it, didn’t I?” Lenny comments, hanging his head, then sighing as Mack slowly nods.

“Wait, what? I’m confused,” I say, shifting in my chair. “Ten bucks over what?”

Lenny explains, and says, “Shad and I made a bet with each other. If I would stop sayin’,” he glances at Mack, “The F word, Shad’ll stop sayin’ the N word. First one to slip up and say it owes the other ten dollars. Mack and Nay are keepin’ track of that shit for us. But you know I think she might be lyin’ for his ass, when she swears he ain’t saying that shit anymore.” Lenny moves to sit on Mack’s lap, arms around his neck. “So I got one question to ask before I’m gonna let your live here.”

“Is that so?” I say. He nods, and Mack rolls his eyes.

“If you answer this shit correctly, you can stay here, long as you want.”

“Okay, what?”

“...Who’s Corey Taylor?”

Lenny narrows his eyes in scrutiny, dead fucking serious about this shit, apparently. I snort at him. “You mean the dude from Stone Sour?” I ask, and Lenny purses his lips. I _know_ he’s also the lead singer of Slipknot, Lenny’s favorite band, and that’s what he was waiting for me to say, but I just had to fuck with him a little.

He huffs. “Close enough,” he grumbles, and I smirk. “It’s a passing grade, anyway.”

* * *

Living with Mack and Lenny is an interesting experience. It wasn’t what I expected at all, because I mean I expected these two to be totally domestic behind closed doors, and I mean they are, as in they do normal couple things like cook dinner and watch tv together, but they’re not…conventional. It’s not really the kind of relationship dynamic I assumed it would be either. Not that it’s bad in any way–and what does it matter really–but it’s just weird, I guess. Though in a way, kind of comforting.

Mack and Twitch have their own way of doing things that doesn’t make me feel like I have to act or behave a certain way either. I don’t have to suddenly start dressing differently or even acting different, just because I’m out of the closet, which is nice. Because they’re still the exact same people they always were, and the only real difference is that they’re obviously more than just friends based on how affectionate they are with each other. And boy, let me tell you, are they affectionate.

A little over a week has gone by, and I’ve finally got my own bed. True to his word, Mack drove me to the furniture outlet on Saturday to buy one. I almost went the lazy route and just bought a twin sized mattress, box spring, and frame, with no head or foot board, because it would be cheaper. But then I saw something that just blew my mind and appealed to a baser urge I was rarely able to indulge in any of my relationships. Yeah, I saw a bed set with matching _barred_ head and foot board sections.

They’re vertical bars, and they kind of make me think of the bars on a prison cell, and I just know they would be perfect to attach ropes to, or more importantly, my _handcuffs_ too, and oh fucking god my heart when I saw it! I fell in love. Of course, trying to explain to Mack and the sales attendant in the middle of a furniture store just why I wanted this particular bed frame was a bit difficult. I made the excuse of how “durable” it would be, as to why I was willing to waste that kind of money.

It’s not like I ever expect to invite a guy over any time soon, but I highly doubt they would mind if I ever decided to have company, and you never know, I might get lucky and meet someone that I connect with. But I hear my roommates having their “private time” by accident all the time. Like, the very first night I slept on their couch, with Tank and Argyle–who are ridiculously affectionate once they get to know you–curled up on my chest and lap, I heard distinct _noises_ coming from their bedroom.

Maybe they tried to hide it at first, but they just gradually got louder and louder until I had to connect my headphones and blast music to drown them out. Like they just stopped caring, and they really shouldn’t anyway, because it’s their house and they can do whatever they want. But yeah, I heard two men clearly having sex that night, and I won’t lie, I was partially turned on? And partially couldn’t stop laughing because of the awkwardness. 

I think, though I’m not sure, that I even heard Lenny being _slapped_ at one point.

Total freaks, which of course just warms my heart to think about, because reasons. But yeah, I highly doubt either would be too upset if I managed to meet someone and invited them over to get it on. If they did, that’s extremely hypocritical of them anyway. So yeah, I have a bed now, it’s full sized, and it’s fairly comfortable too. Also, living with Mack makes it insanely easy to get to work. Saves gas because I just ride with Mack in his truck. It would be hard to make excuses to miss though.

Can’t lie to your boss about being sick if you want to take the day off when you’re _living_ with the bastard. But the more I get to know him in his natural off-work state of existence, the more and more alike I realize we are. Mack is just too laid back of a personality to really be a bother to anyone unless they manage to piss him off somehow, and most usually it’s the customers that piss him off. But what does he do? He goes home, and he takes it out on Lenny, the willing participant, in the bedroom.

We’ve developed sort of a routine, me living with my boss and his husband. Lenny usually works the opening shift at the restaurant so he gets up around the same time we do. We all get up, have coffee and a smoke at the kitchenette, and I listen to Lenny harp on Mack for spoiling their cats rotten, letting them up on the counter and feeding them too much tuna and cat treats. Lenny cooks breakfast for us, and we take it to the living room to watch some tv while we eat. Lenny’s a damn good cook.

We get dressed and we go to work. We come home, we each shower, eat dinner, get high and watch tv or just sit around and bullshit about whatever. Lenny takes online college courses he attends a couple of times a week. We go to bed, get up the next morning and do it all over again. You would think it would just be monotonous, but I kind of like the consistency. I don’t deal with change very well, so having some kind of routine keeps my thoughts from circling the drain.

Keeps me from dwelling on the past, all the ugly parts of it I’d rather ignore, because I can do nothing about them. Keeps me from thinking about all my regrets and mistakes. So I’m…well, I’m okay, I guess? Mack and Lenny don’t put any kind of pressure on me to behave a certain way, have next to zero expectations, and I feel like I can be myself. No, scratch that, I _can_ be myself, and for the first time in my life, I actually _am_. It means a lot to me to be able to do that, after hiding who I am for so long.

But it’s not like much about me has suddenly changed. Like, I’m not a very articulate person, and I really have no fashion sense whatsoever, so it’s not like I’ve been hiding how _flamboyantly_ gay I secretly am, or how cultured, and have suddenly started dressing better. My style and aesthetic has only ever revolved around practicality and/or whatever band I’m obsessed with and trying to emulate, therefore dressing up for performances always revolved around appealing to the alternative rock scene.

I can’t force myself to suddenly be interested in high fashion and turn into a hipster or some shit, and I probably shouldn’t anyway. Where we live, it just doesn’t make any kind of sense whatsoever to dress like that, and to suddenly start would be a dead giveaway to people that I am truly gay. That would more than likely draw attention from the wrong kind of people, and precisely the wrong moments. People like Rodney for example, and I really don’t want to go to jail because I decked some guy.

But…with all this being said, and as much as I’ve found this strange sort of contentment here…

There _is_ a downside to living with Lenny Bordeaux.

Mainly, how much shit I have to hear him talk about his ex, Justin Macintosh.

(Yes I realize my obsession with him is probably _extremely_ unhealthy, thank you.)

I made the mistake of asking what happened between them, because I was way too curious and I never knew the whole story. So he told me. Gave me a rundown of everything you guys read about in Part One. I honestly don’t know how to feel about it either. On the one hand, of course I sympathize with my friend, but on the other, I can’t help but wonder if maybe Lenny deserved it. Because he _is_ an asshole, and I refuse to believe Justin would act like that for no fucking reason whatsoever.

But to be fair, Lenny _did_ admit that he made mistakes too, and doesn’t pit 100% of the blame on Justin alone, as to the reason their relationship fell apart. He just alludes to the fact that 90% of what he did was _because_ Justin treated him that way. But I’m betting that was exactly how _Justin_ felt too. I’ve made mistakes as well, so I’m the last person to judge either of them. But imagine how much better off they would’ve been had they broken up years ago.

(Then again, had they broken up sooner, maybe they wouldn’t have learned all the valuable lessons to be found in _Diary of a Closet Gay_.)

But yeah, anyway, I’ve gotten a taste of what my old highschool crush became after we graduated, and I honestly don’t know how I would feel about him now, if we met up again, like, if he’s still that obnoxious person he was when they dated and hasn’t changed for the better since then. Lenny says it’s kind of awkward for him, now that he and Mack are together and married, so he doesn’t come around very often. But a week after I’ve been living with them, Mack has some interesting news.

“My brother just texted me,” he tells me from the recliner, glancing up from his phone. “He’s gonna be here in a few.”

It’s Sunday, the day after I got my bed set up, and it’s our day off.

“I’m gonna go to Lee’s,” Lenny chirps brightly at that, from the couch beside me, and stands up to hunt for his shoes and swipe his keys from the kitchen table.

“Baby you ain’t gotta go nowhere,” Mack tells him, but he shakes his head, waving a hand in the air.

“No, no, I do,” he says. “I’m supposed to help Lee with her thesis anyway, and I honestly don’t need this shit today.” He toes into his sneakers. Then says to me, “If I were you, I’d disappear too. Trust me, you do _not_ want to be within a hundred yards of Justin once he gets to talking. His ass _never_ shuts up.”

My heart drums faster. I dunno, I kind of want to see what he’s like. How much he’s changed since way back when. I’m way too curious. “I mean do you need me to leave?” I ask Mack. “You know, so you and Justin can talk?”

“Nah, it’s all good, man,” he says, smirking. “Oughta stick around. Never know, shit might get real interesting.” He winks at me. Once Lenny’s ready to go, he calls out, “Bye, love you,” to his spouse, who does the same. Then it’s just the two of us. We share a look, and Mack is still smirking about something. It takes me a whole minute to finally figure out why. I told Mack I used to have a crush on his brother back in the day, and I just came out of the closet. I’m also single, and available. _Oh...shit_.

My heart really starts pounding when I think about maybe possibly getting that shot with Justin after all, and I stand up. “I’m gonna go change,” I say, because I’m wearing a ratty old t-shirt and pajama pants still. I was not expecting company. Mack is chuckling as I make my way to my bedroom. He can laugh all he wants at me, but it’s entirely his _own_ fault that I’ve suddenly turned into a chick and am now stressing over what to wear, pulling clothes from my bag and laying them across the bed.

Once I look more presentable, now in jeans and not-so-ratty looking shirt, and have run a brush through my hair… shaved my face, brushed my teeth, and fretted over what to say as well… A car has pulled into the driveway and shuts off, a figure stepping out, then locking up the shiny Buick LaSabre before walking up to the porch. I am in absolute shambles on the couch at this point, and when we hear the knock on the door, Mack asks me to get up and answer. So I do. I get up. I walk to the door.

My palms are sweating and I’m kind of shaky too.

I answer, he whips around at the sound of me opening the door, and I see a _very_ familiar face.

Oh fuck.

OH FUCK!!

Yeah I bet you know who it is.

…It’s the guy I _fucked_ last Saturday night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Invincible"–Crossfade](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=LD5-ERDYpoQ&feature=share)
> 
> Check out TK's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-3q4InjDkADTzrXYMyFNLg)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)
> 
> Join the Discord: <https://discord.gg/wVFt8Ke5YN>


	9. Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I’m already falling in love with him all over again._
> 
> _But I’m already too late._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Over And Over"–Three Days Grace](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=6hx2Ql_WmZE&feature=share)

I fell in love with Justin the summer before senior year. 

That summer, I had just started my band, and we’d practice in the bass player’s garage pretty consistently every weekend. It was me–the lead singer, guitarist, and frontman of course–the bass player’s name was Richard, but everybody called him Richie, like the movie Richie Rich, because he kind of looked like an awkward teenaged Macaulay Culkin. There was a second guitar player, Blake, who’s only real talent was picking the wax out of his ears, but his dad was the one letting us borrow his p.a.

And we had a drummer of course. 

Dusty.

Who would stick with me until well after highschool and even tour with me on the road. 

Who would end up being the reason I quit.

But back then, we would all pile up in Richie’s brother’s Honda, following Blake in his van, hauling the equipment, and we’d all stop to get McDonald’s in town before driving out to Richie’s parents’ house for the whole weekend. My dad never cared where I was going, and wasn’t home half the time anyway to ask, so it never mattered if I stayed with Richie for days at a time. I could have stayed gone the whole summer and I doubt my dad would’ve noticed I was missing.

The summer before senior year was the summer that Lenny started coming around, because by then, he’d been released from his two year sentence to juvenile hall. We’d hung out on occasion during our junior year, because Lenny liked hard rock and heavy metal type music, similar to what I and my band mates liked to play, and we had a couple of mutual friends. But his _closest_ friend would beg him to come to Richie’s house to listen to his “favorite band” practice their songs.

Yeah, Justin was my biggest fan. But he had no idea that I was his too. No clue whatsoever.

He would tag along whenever Lenny’s grandma brought him out to the house and dropped them both off, and since most usually there was nowhere else to sit, he would plop himself down on the cement floor in the corner, curl his arms around his legs and quietly listen while the band practiced. He didn’t get high with us, because his mom would totally wring his neck if he ever went home smelling like pot, but he would hang with us, typically only talking to Lenny or myself. 

No one could figure out why Lenny wanted to hang out with Justin, when he seemed like such a “loser”, but all Lenny had to do was shoot someone a glare and they would shut right up, because no one wanted to piss him off. That was pretty much the entirety of the last two years of highschool. Everybody being forced to put up with Justin because they liked Lenny. He was cool, unlike Justin, and everybody liked how much of a trouble maker he was. Everybody wanted to be like Lenny.

Of course Lenny himself couldn’t really give a fuck, but that’s what made him so cool.

He literally did not care what anyone thought of him, and it was just so fucking hardcore to a bunch of punks like us.

But it did irritate a lot of people that he hung out with the biggest loser in school. Nobody liked Justin. Everybody thought he was an annoying headache, because once he was comfortable with people, he liked to talk a lot and would blurt out whatever he was thinking off the top of his head. One of the symptoms of anxiety that people don’t catch onto right away, because people tend to confuse _oversharing_ with being _outgoing_ and trust me, they’re not the same things.

How do I know this? Because I too suffer from anxiety and so I recognized the behavior in Justin. And I totally understand the struggle.

It made me feel normal whenever he was around, like I wasn’t alone, because I wasn’t the only socially awkward teen in the group when Justin was hanging out with us. Like, I wasn’t the only idiot that didn’t know how to talk to people, because I really didn’t, and I still don’t. The only reason no one ever notices how awkward I am is because I’m somewhat attractive, and my silence is confused for brooding, which most find “so hot”, when really I’m just a big bumbling doofus with bad social skills.

So, what made that summer so special and so unique compared to any other was the discovery of my crush’s _second_ favorite band. I found out that Justin liked Three Days Grace, so that summer, I wrecked my fingers to learn their entire One-X album. It was no easy task, by any means. See, we didn’t have fancy shit like YouTube Music and Spotify to stream and download music back then. Maybe some kids at my school might have an RCA mp3 player with a few songs, but that was it.

My broke ass didn’t even have a cellphone, and while I had a Myspace account, my only means of accessing the internet was the school computer or the public library. So most of the time, if I didn’t listen to it on the radio, I didn’t know it existed. So in order to learn the entire album, I actually had to scrape together my savings from raking and mowing lawns, hitch a ride two hours away to the nearest shopping mall, and buy the One-X album on disc, at the music store in the mall.

Then sit there in my bedroom with my headphones plugged into my little Sony portable cd player and play it over and over, trying to piece together the guitar riffs until I could somewhat play them to the best of my ability. It was aggravating, especially considering my dad couldn’t be bothered to pay for guitar lessons, so if I didn’t learn it in school, I had to figure it out on my own. My music teacher was a big help, but after the semester ended and summer break started, it was just me and my wits.

So there I was, with that piece of shit little cd player, no tabs, and not a fucking clue.

Still to this day, I have no idea if I was even playing the songs right, but it was totally worth it. Every aggravation, every cramp, every blister, every headache, and every time I wanted to throw my cd player or smash my guitar against my dresser, was totally worth it just to show off for Justin, and blow him out of the water. Even if he had no idea why I did it. Even if he never found out how much I liked him.

Now, for context, by this point I had begun to suspect that maybe Justin liked guys? Call it a hunch, because I wasn’t that good at figuring out those kind of things, but there were some small hints at it in Justin’s behavior, that I had picked up on. And at seventeen, _no_ guy knows how to be subtle, really. But it was mostly the way he would chew the corner of his lip, or brush his hair out of his glasses, that straight guys just don’t do around other guys.

Like, there was a certain inflection in both actions that typically you only see _girls_ do, when they like the guy they’re talking to. 

I was convinced that he tagged along with Lenny because he had a crush on him, and I admit I was insanely jealous of it. I didn’t really know how to compete with Lenny and catch Justin’s attention without also drawing attention from others, and making it obvious to people that I liked Justin. I was deathly afraid of being outed. But I knew he was into my music, so if that was all I could do–woo him with my “sultry” singing voice and slick guitar riffs–then that’s what I would do. 

Hoping maybe one day he would get the hint that I was dropping that I was into him. So, one weekend, we’re all out at Richie’s house, right? Which was a lot like Smoke’s house. Outside city limits, in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by woods, with few neighbors, which was the perfect place to blast our shitty music in the garage without being a public nuisance. The band is all there, plus a few of our friends. Stoney and Andy, if you might remember them. Andy’s ex girlfriend, Addy.

He hadn’t met his current girlfriend, Amy, yet. He was still fucking around with Addy, who was kinda hot, I guess, and liked to smoke and drink, but unlike Amy, she acted like a complete fucking whore. She was always flirting with all of Andy’s friends and the band too, maybe especially me, and earned the nickname “Groupie” from all of us when she and Andy weren’t around to hear us call her that. She was just a slut that liked the attention.

(She’s married now. Has like five kids from five different men.)

Blake’s girlfriend is there too. Patricia. She was best friends with Addy, and really only dated Blake because he was a guitar player and for little else. She wasn’t very attractive and didn’t have much of a personality either, but Blake dated her anyway, because she was literally the only chick in school that would go out with him. (They broke up the following summer, before she left for college.) But the gang’s almost all there, when an old station wagon pulls into the driveway.

“Now you boys behave yourselves,” Lenny’s grandma says, as he and Justin are climbing out of the car.

“We will, Mrs. Marks,” Justin promises, bright friendly smile on his face and he waves goodbye to her. Lenny takes off toward the garage.

“Ah-ah! Now Leonard, you get your butt back here and give your grandma a proper goodbye! Come on now, get over here and give grandma a kiss.”

A few people snicker as Lenny rolls his eyes and ambles back over to the car and bends to kiss his grandma on the cheek. He even mumbles a, ‘bye, love you,’ then watches her shift her car back into drive. “Sucker,” Blake mumbles. When Brenda’s station wagon pulls away, he says to Lenny, “She still tuck you in at night too?” And a few people snort. But Lenny doesn’t think it’s funny. He steps toward Blake and juts a finger in his face.

“You shut the _fuck up_ about my grandma,” he growls, giving Blake a dark look, and Blake clamps his mouth shut, smile gone and face white as a sheet. It gets quiet too.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

Lenny pulls a cigarette from behind his ear and lights it, plopping himself down on the nearest upturned milk crate we use for seats, since there aren’t enough chairs. He doesn’t say anything after that. Just takes the joint Andy rolled when he passes it his way.

Justin, who’s been standing there awkwardly, fidgeting–probably thinking the worst, that Lenny was going to pummel the brakes off of Blake just now–turns to me and smiles again. “Hey Terry,” he says, with a shy little wave and bites his bottom lip in this cute way that I try not to focus too much on. By this point, I’ve gotten so used to everyone just calling me Tee or TK, that hearing him call me by my actual name feels special, rather than an insult, and I like it. 

Justin saying _anything_ is music to my ears.

“Hey Andy. Hey Brandon,” he greets Andy and Stoney next, and Stoney bristles at the name drop. Everyone scoffs at Justin like he’s such a pain in the ass, but all he did was say hi. It pisses me off, but I’m too much of a chicken shit to say anything, because I don’t want to lose what friends I have, or my band, for that matter, just because I stuck up for the dorky loser. I, however, am not rude though. I smile a little at him and nod, muttering a ‘hey’. Justin moves to sit on the floor.

With clammy hands, I quickly clear my notebooks full of song lyrics off the speaker where I set them, so he can sit there instead. “Here,” I say and offer it up as a seat. He smiles again, and gingerly sits on the speaker like he thinks it’s sacred, or he might break it. Granted, you don’t want to sit on a speaker, typically, because no it’s not a chair and yes you might damage it, but I’m trying to be courteous to Justin. Plus, Justin sitting there means he’s closest to my mic stand.

But I don’t know what to say to him. I seriously do not know how to talk to people and sound cool, which was why I always sang. I didn’t have to sound suave or sexy if I was singing. Literally no one cared what was going on if I was singing. Plus, singing was my emotional outlet, so I say to Justin, grabbing my guitar, “Check this out.” I plug my guitar into my amp, tweak the volume a little, adjust the distortion, then proceed to play the opening to Riot, which was one of the more fun ones to play. 

His face lights up when he hears it, and my heart soars.

“You learned Riot?!” he says, excitedly and I smirk, having succeeded in my mission.

Everything I worked so hard for, all those aches and pains, it was all to see _that_ look, and fuck yes it was worth every minute of the experience.

“Yeah,” I pause in playing to respond, nodding. “I learned the whole album.”

Heart eyes emojis really weren’t a thing yet (Shit, we didn’t even call them that. We called them emoticons. And I only knew they existed because DeviantArt was a thing.) But if I didn’t know better, I would say Justin’s face was the original mold they used for that emoji, because that’s what he looks like right now. Fuck, not Lenny nor anyone else could exist to him right now, because I’m all he sees, and so maybe it’s just adoration because I learned an album he likes and not because he likes me.

Or…maybe it is, but…Anyway, I finished playing Riot for Justin after that, trying my best not to stare at him constantly as I sang (though I wanted to) the band eventually joining in because they knew the song too, and at that moment I knew. I knew what I wanted. I knew what my dream was. I didn’t care about the money or the fame, I didn’t care about how popular I was, how many fans I had, or if I ever won a music award. All I wanted was this. This right here. This moment, this experience. 

To be up on a stage, with hundreds, maybe even thousands watching, while I sing… to Justin. 

For no one else, _to_ no one else. 

Yeah, maybe some women in the crowd might swoon (maybe even some men) but it would all be for Justin, my eyes would see no one else in the world, and nothing else would exist, but the two of us. 

Yeah, that was the moment that I fell hard for Justin Macintosh.

I was never the same after that.

* * *

My heart stops when I see the figure standing on Mack and Lenny’s front porch. He’s got his back turned at first and he’s talking on the phone, saying, “I can’t! I have to work tomorrow...No! I can’t call off and I’m not driving three fucking hours just to be there for like ten minutes before I’d have to turn right back around and drive right back so I can be up for work in the morning! I’m sorry! But it’s either I come pick you up on Friday, or you have your mom bring you here! I’ve gotta go, I’m at my brother’s.”

That voice. I know that voice. And when he hangs up the phone and whips around, I know that face too.

Of course, the last time I saw that face, it was bright red and scrunched up in half pleasure and half pain, sexy bottom lip trembling, from a mind blowing orgasm, and just that memory…

_Holy shit._

“Justin?!” I screech, at the very same moment his eyes are widening in recognition as well.

“Tee?” he squeaks out.

We both stare, confounded.

Oh god, do you know what that means?! If the guy I was with last Saturday is here to see his brother, and Mack is that brother, that means this is Justin Macintosh, and that also means…

_I fucked Justin Macintosh last Saturday night._

My brain sort of fizzles for a second, piecing all of this together. Oh god I fucked Justin. Not just any guy named Justin. _The_ Justin. They’re one and the same. Only it seems apparent that neither one of us recognized each other. I mean shit, it’s been how many years since we’ve seen each other? But holy shit, my hands were all over that body, my tongue down that throat, my dick up inside that tight fucking ass, and all of it belonged to the same ridiculously cute dork I was in love with all those years ago.

‘Oh my god’ is not a strong enough phrase.

Matter of fact there isn’t _any_ clever use of the English language to properly convey what I’m feeling right now.

“Uhh…C-Can I come in?” he stammers. 

I don’t know what else to do, so of course I open the door wider and step out of the way to let him inside. Goddamn, could this really be Justin Macintosh?! This incredibly sexy guy with his hair immaculately styled, wearing grey suit pants and a matching vest, a white dress shirt, sporting a stylish watch and _no glasses_ , looking like he’s either going to a business meeting or maybe just got out of church? This drop dead gorgeous guy that should be on the cover of a magazine?

My mouth hangs open. He sees Mack and forces a smile. “Hey Mack,” he greets.

“What’s goin’ on, little man,” Mack greets, smiling back, even getting up from his chair and wandering over to where were standing near the door. “How’ve ya been?”

“I’ve been okay,” he says, then he side-eyes me nervously again. “Who’s your friend?” he then asks, like he has no clue who I am.

“This is TK,” Mack answers. “You remember TK, don’t ya? Y’all went to highschool together.”

Justin looks me over for a second. “Wait…TK… Terry?! You’re Terry Kavanaugh?!”

“Yeah that’s me,” I mumble, scratching my head. “I… You look...different–good. You look good, I mean. Yeah. Long time no see, huh.”

“Oh my God!” he shrieks, then clamps a hand over his mouth. Mack thankfully hasn’t caught on yet to why Justin is so shocked, I don’t think, so when he clears his throat and says, “I-I didn’t even recognize you!” Mack’s assumption as to why is totally off base.

“Been a long time, ain’t it,” Mack remarks. “Won’tchya come on in an’ have a seat,” he offers. Justin proceeds to do that and slowly makes his way over to the couch, then gingerly sits down. Mack ambles back over to his chair, leaving me to flop down on the couch next to Justin. I sit close to the end though, because I’m not entirely sure how Justin would feel, having me within arms reach. I still have no idea why he ditched me that night. “So what brings you by?” Mack asks.

Justin fumbles for a second, sputtering.

“O-oh c-come on, Mack, do I really need an excuse to visit my brother?” he laughs, but I can tell it’s nervous awkward laughter, and he really didn’t expect me to be here. 

This is fucking insane.

Justin.

I fucked him.

Jesus fucking Christ I fucked him!

“Ain’t sayin’ that,” Mack tells him. “Just sounded kind of urgent on the phone.”

“I’m sorry,” Justin winces. “I mean it is? Important, I mean. For me. For us. Like, my therapist has been suggesting I visit family more often. She says it isn’t good to bury myself in work, and… well, I’ve missed you guys. I miss hanging out with you. Lenny too. Crazy right? But I mean...” He glances around. “Is he here?”

“Nah, he went to Lee’s.”

“That’s too bad.”

I have so many questions right now, but I won’t dare open my mouth.

So Justin’s been seeing a therapist, huh? That would explain a lot about things. You know, why he’s so different. Why he’s reaching out to Mack and Lenny now. Trying to repair the bond that was broken after the fallout of his and Lenny’s relationship. Justin’s maturing, and actually sitting down and looking at his behavior with a critical eye. And that night...at the club, and after... It gets quiet for a minute, and Justin sneaks these glances at me.

Finally he says, “I still can’t believe it’s you,” and I look away, embarrassed.

“I look that rough, huh?” I chuckle.

“No, you look good,” he tells me, smiling. Then he tells Mack, “I didn’t know you guys knew each other.”

“Yeah he works for me. He’s stayin’ with us for a little while, ‘til he gets on his feet.”

“That’s cool,” Justin nods. Then he gets this cheeky sort of look. “I used to have a _huge_ crush on him in highschool,” he tells Mack, about me. 

“Ya don’t say,” Mack quips, eyes on me, the corner of his mouth upturned in this sneaky kind of smile.

“Yeah,” Justin continues, blushing. “Oh my God, do you remember prom?” he asks me, almost reaching like he means to put his hand on my shoulder. “Lenny wasn’t there for this, so he probably didn’t tell you,” he explains to Mack, “But… oh it was _so_ sweet what Terry did for me. A couple of guys thought it would be funny to take the punch bowl and dump it over my head, and I was so embarrassed. But Terry found me in the boys’ bathroom and he gave me his shirt to wear.”

“Well, wasn’t that nice of ‘em,” Mack drawls and still, he’s got that smile on his face. “Ya know, Terry here tells me he had the biggest crush on you too?”

Justin bites his lip. Then it’s his turn to say, “You don’t say.” His eyes slowly make their way back to mine.

Finally I muster the courage to mumble. “I did, yeah. I wasn’t… I mean I kinda… I just never knew what to say to you? And… well…”

“You didn’t want the entire school finding out you liked guys?” I nod at that. “Yeah I get that. Same here, pretty much. I had enough problems at school without adding being known as the school’s resident _gay_ to the list.” I figured as much. Not that people didn’t still call him that behind his back, maybe even to his face, but it would’ve been worse if they knew he was _actually_ gay. “Oh but that’s so sweet though. I used to pretend all those times you were singing in Richie’s garage, that you were singing for me.”

“The fucker probably was,” Mack laughs, and my face is redder than the cherry of his cigarette. “Ya know he’s single now,” he adds, with a wink. “Him an’ his girlfriend finally broke up.”

Justin, who is also blushing, looks away at that, but not in sudden shyness.

His smile fades a little. “I, uh, I see what you’re doing there Mack, and that’s sweet of you but…” … _But?_ “But…” He sighs. “Garret and I are working things out.”

Oh no.

Oh _hell_ no.

(Yeah I know. Should’ve seen that shit coming. It’s in the work summary, after all.)

 _Goddamit_.

That’s exactly the word that comes out of Mack’s mouth too. “Goddammit, Justin,” he groans and Justin sighs like he’s thinking, ‘Oh great, now I’m going to hear it,’ and Mack grumbles, “The fuck are ya runnin’ back ta his ass for? The fuckin’ asshole already done cheated on ya!”

“He didn’t cheat, Mack–”

“The hell he didn’t! He was textin’ some fuckin’ slut on Grindr! And you caught his ass in the middle of this shit!”

Meanwhile my eyebrows are touching the fucking ceiling at all this.

“It wasn’t like I caught him with his pants down or anything, they were just texting.” Mack sighs and rolls his eyes like Justin just doesn’t fucking get it. “He invited a guy to have a threesome with the two of us,” Justin explains. “He’s polyamorous. So he’s open to the idea of having multiple partners. Which I am _not_ okay with. But we talked about it, and Garret understands that if we’re going to be in a serious relationship, it needs to just be the two of us, and he’s fine with that. He’s not cheating on me.”

I call bullshit. So does Mack, as he says, “Yeah fuckin’ right. I bet his ass is _still_ textin’ other men. You look at his phone? Whaddya wanna bet he’s got that app on it still? Won'tchya ask him for his password and make him prove he ain't doin’ that shit.”

“I’m not monitoring his phone, Mack,” Justin huffs. “I trust him, and if I ever expect him to trust me, I need to give him the benefit of the doubt too.”

“That what your therapist tell ya?”

“She doesn’t know. I haven’t told her, and I’m not going to tell her, because it’s not a problem anymore. We worked it out.”

“Does she even know y’all are gettin’ back together?... You ain’t even mentioned it to her yet, have ya?”

Justin scowls at Mack, and judging by his expression, Mack is right, and he doesn’t want to admit that shit. He lets out a puff through his nostrils. “Let’s change the subject,” he chirps. “How are you and Lenny doing?”

“Oh we’re doin’ fine. Just fuckin’ fine,” Mack says, frowning, and his eyes slide to mine.

Well, fuck.

Justin’s got a boyfriend. A really shitty boyfriend, but still, he’s taken. And I can’t say I’m happy about it.

Because I’m already falling in love with him all over again.

But apparently I’m already too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Invincible"–Crossfade](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=LD5-ERDYpoQ&feature=share)
> 
> Check out TK's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-3q4InjDkADTzrXYMyFNLg)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)
> 
> Join the Discord: <https://discord.gg/wVFt8Ke5YN>


	10. Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I need to put Justin out of my head and move on, because that’s a pipedream._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Starless"–Crossfade](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=3Jy_lW-kSho&feature=share)

“So do you still play guitar?” Justin asks me, to which I make a ‘yikes’ face, and look away, scratching my head. 

“If he does, it ain’t when I’m around,” Mack comments, with a chuckle.

“Yeah, I… uh, don’t play much anymore,” I admit and Justin gasps.

“What?!” he exclaims. “Oh no! Why not?”

He sounds so disappointed to hear that, which shouldn’t surprise me, considering it was Justin who always said I was going to be famous one day and how he couldn’t wait to brag to people about knowing me and being the first to have my autograph. I made the plunge into the music scene initially because of Justin’s support. I take a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.

“I just… don’t have the passion for it like I used to,” I say, my usual reply to that question.

“Oh that’s so sad,” he says. “You should’ve heard him, Mack, he was _so_ good. Like, we were all convinced he was going to be famous one day.”

So did I.

Believe me, so did I.

“Wonchya play somethin’,” Mack suggests. I start to shift around a little, uncomfortable. “Oh come on, man, just one song.”

“It won’t sound that great,” I say, making up any old excuse that’ll do the trick. “I don’t have an amp for my electric.”

“Oh hell, that don’t matter. It’s just us. Ain’t like you’re playin’ a gig or some shit.” Again, I sigh. “Besides, Justin’s got me awful curious to hear it now. Wontchya play us a song.”

My eyes flit back and forth between Justin and Mack for a second. Goddammit. I’m already in a shit mood, after just finding out the guy I’m falling back in love with already belongs to someone else, and now these guys want me to play music? My passion has always been tied to my emotions, and I’m terrified that I’ll sound like shit, even if I could bring myself to play. I just can’t do it if my heart’s not in it.

“Well how about you go first,” I say to Mack. “You play something, and I will.”

Now it’s Mack’s turn to sigh, and meanwhile Justin gets this shit eating grin on his face that’s incredibly adorable. I forgot how handsome he was. And now that he no longer wears glasses and presumably wears contacts? I see how expressive those eyes of his are and how much they light up when he smiles. Cheesy as fuck, I know, but I half thought Justin would’ve aged terribly, but Jesus fucking Christ he only got _more_ handsome after highschool and it’s killing me.

Especially now that I know that the body I was rolling around in the sheets with last Saturday was him. I kept flashing back to that night, all week, playing it over and over, and now I’m replaying it with the thought of it being Justin Macintosh, and it puts a brand new twist on it. Of course, I also think about the fact that he ditched me, but at least now I understand why. It was just a one night stand. Just a lapse in judgement he made that meant nothing to him.

He wants to be with Garret, not me.

And obviously I need to forget it ever happened, because it never will, ever again.

Mack debates for a second before reaching beside his chair and scooping up the left handed acoustic nearby, then sets it in his lap. “You’ll have to pardon me,” he says. “I ain’t really used to playin’ for nobody but Len.” He spends a half a minute tuning it by ear before he thinks of something to play. “Hell, I think you might appreciate this shit,” he says. Then he starts picking the opening notes to It’s Been Awhile by Staind. And damn does it sound good.

When he starts singing, I’m truly blown away, because it sounds really good too, but I totally realize why he doesn’t play professionally either when I see that he keeps his eyes closed the entire time, and plays the notes from memory. If he opens his eyes, it’s only to look down at his guitar, or at the floor. Stage fright, most likely. Has trouble maintaining eye contact with his audience. God it reminds me so much of Dusty for a second that I start to get even more depressed than I already was.

Dusty, my drummer, could never play in front of big crowds, but I wanted him to play so bad that I pushed him through his anxiety and suggested he play with his eyes closed. It worked, and because most usually the crowd’s eyes are on the lead singer, me, nobody cared or even noticed. After a while, he got used to it, and actually started to enjoy being on stage with me. I remember him spending hours practicing drum lines over and over for a new song before a gig.

We’d chill in the motel room, getting high, and going over the lead breaks together.

Goddamn I miss Dusty. He was my best friend, and now he’s…

Well, now he’s in the past.

But here is Mack, the talented son of a bitch that’s making me miss being on stage, playing with his eyes closed like Dusty used to do. When the song is over, both Justin and I give him a round of applause, Justin saying, “Oh my God that was _so good_ , Mack.” He smiles a little, then his eyes slide to me, and his brow raises, like he’s saying, “Alright, your turn.” Fuck. Alright. Guess I have no choice since the motherfucker actually pulled through and played us a song. Sober even.

“Alright,” I sigh, then get up and slink off to my bedroom to snatch up my Gibson.

I take it back to the living room, unzip the case and pull it out. I have to fight to get it in tune and of course the strings are muted so you can’t hardly hear them, but now it’s my turn to play a song by Staind. I start playing Outside, because I’m really feeling it right now, and Mack, bless this asshole, knows this song too, so he starts playing quietly along with me on his Washburn, which really works to balance out the sound. He even softly sings the harmony parts in the chorus.

Damn, we sound _great_ together. I get all these memories dragged up of harmonizing with Dusty, because our rhythm guitarist couldn’t sing for shit, but Dusty could. As I’m singing this little half assed version of one of my go-to songs when we played rock covers at all those campgrounds and shit, I’m flooded with memories of traveling from place to place, in the passenger’s seat of Dusty’s old Chevy Astro, singing the lyrics to him that I was jotting down in my notepad.

But then the memories turn dark, and by the time the song is over, I feel like I’m going to need a shit ton of alcohol to get through the night. Or to smoke some weed. Because no matter how much time passes, I can’t deal with these kinds of thoughts sober. But Justin applauds both of us, and Mack is smiling too. Yeah, we do sound pretty great together, and I’m feeling nostalgic as fuck right now.

“I could totally picture you guys singing in a band together,” Justin comments.

“He was right, you’re pretty good,” Mack commends me. “Ya kinda sound like the dude from Crossfade.”

“Hehe,” Justin chortles. “That’s like the highest fucking compliment you could ever pay Terry. He _loves_ Ed Sloan.”

That’s very true. And I love Justin for remembering his name.

Jesus Christ do I fucking love him.

And _God_ do I need to get over him, fast.

But he gets a text from someone, just then. His phone makes a chirp in his pocket. He checks it. “Oh shit, I’ve got to go,” he laments. “Dammit. I have to take the car back. I dropped Brent off at the youth bible study? And I need to swing by and pick him up.”

“Brent?”

“His step-dad,” Mack explains.

“Well, not for long. The divorce will be final next week,” Justin says. “But I mean he’ll always be family to me though.”

Brent Sizemore? I remember him. He was the school counselor. Was also a youth pastor, (obviously still is) but I mostly remember seeing him at school and we would talk on occasion. I also remember Justin getting hassled like crazy by everybody when they found out his mom was dating Brent, and then they got married. It was weird for one of your teachers to also be your parent, and everybody was always making fun of Justin for that shit.

But Brent was a cool guy. 

So he’s divorcing Linda?

“How come he’s getting a divorce?” I ask, curious.

Justin and Mack both snort. “Because he got tired of my mom being an insufferable bigot,” Justin answers. “She stopped talking to me after I came out to her, and Brent’s eyes were opened to just what kind of woman he married. He doesn’t think it’s very Christian of her to reject her son just because he’s gay. You know, the whole ‘love the sinner, hate the sin’ thing.” He slips his phone back in his pocket. Mack sets his guitar aside.

“Yeah I used to hate that guy,” he admits, to which Justin lets out another snort, smirking at him. “Not so much anymore though.”

“Yeah not since he joined the ‘I hate Linda’s guts’ club,” Justin laughs. I force a smile at that. “It was good seeing you again, Terry,” he tells me, as he’s standing up to leave. Mack and I stand up too.

“Yeah you too,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets, because I don’t know what else to do with myself. Though I think touching is out. I feel like at this point, if he were to hug me, it would just royally piss me off. Maybe he senses it, because he doesn’t reach out to touch me, just side-hugs his brother, says goodbye to the both of us, headed out the door and back to his stepdad’s Buick. I head to the window to stare out of it and watch him drive away.

When I turn back to Mack, I see he’s frowning apologetically, looking sheepish, like he knows what’s up. Yeah, I guess there’s no point in trying to hide how bummed out I am in front of Mack, so I lean against the window frame, frowning too. It was really great seeing Justin again, but... “Damn,” Mack curses. “I can’t believe he’s actually gonna try to work shit out with that asshole,” he says, talking about Garret. Justin’s apparent boyfriend.

“You were really tryna set us up together, weren’t you?” I ask.

“You’re damn right I was,” he says, which makes me chuckle for some unknown reason and shake my head. Mack playing cupid. Jesus fucking Christ.

“But why though?”

“’Cause I’d rather have you as a brother-in-law than his lazy ass.” Mack starts to head toward the kitchen and I end up following, settling at the table and listening while Mack pulls food out of the cabinets to make lunch as he talks. “Man don’t wanna fuckin’ work,” he tells me. “Still lives at home with his mom an’ shit. Fucker wants ta blame the economy like it ain’t even his fault, but it ain’t that damn hard to get up and walk five minutes down the road to put in an application.”

“Damn,” I curse next. “So, why is Justin dating him? I mean if he’s that much of a dirt bag, and he cheated?”

“Beats the hell outta me,” he shrugs. “The guy’s so fuckin’ condescending about shit, and bitches about any and every goddamn thing, and he hates that shit. I dunno, maybe he’s still punishin’ himself for the way he treated Len by puttin’ up with Garret’s whiny ass. Only explanation I can think of. But he was doin’ so good though, ya know? Stayin’ away from his mom, takin’ therapy and shit, and now limp dicked fuckin’ Garret’s gotta come along and fuck everything up.”

Again, “Damn.” I reach for my pack of menthols on the table and light one up, squinting when a little smoke gets in my eyes. “Well fuck, man, what makes you think I’m that better of a choice? Hell, I’m sleepin’ in your spare bedroom. Ain’t like I’m doing too much better.”

“But your ass has got a job,” Mack reminds me. He reaches in the drawer for a can opener. “And stayin’ with us is only temporary, anyhow. Garret though… man he’s just a useless fuckin’ lump and I haven’t even met him yet, but I can hardly stand his ass.” He glances back at me for a second. “Ah hell, Tee, I could see the way you two were lookin’ at each other the whole time my brother was here. Whatever thing y’all had for each other back in highschool? Trust me, it’s still there.”

I snort at that. I mean, wouldn’t it be nice. But doesn’t matter much does it?

I sigh a little and slide the ashtray closer. “He’s changed a lot since then.”

“Yeah,” Mack nods, then continues preparing the food in front of him. “He’s doin’ a whole helluva lot better than he _was_ doin’ though. Now that he ain’t fuckin’ around with Mark, or whoever he was.”

“Mark, wasn’t that the guy Lenny said he was fuckin’ around with before they broke up?”

“Yup. He’s half the reason my brother started bein’ such an asshole in the first place. Justin admitted to how he was influencin’ him and shit, after they broke up. How every time he’d tell Mark about somethin’ Lenny did, it was Mark that was tellin’ him ‘do this’ or ‘try that’. Actin’ like he was tryna help Justin, and maybe he was, but it was Mark’s fault he started actin’ like such a bitch to everybody. Started doin’ all that diet shit too, damn near starvin’ himself, all just to make Mark happy.”

“Justin was starving himself?!”

“Oh yeah,” Mack licks the hotdog sauce from his fingers that he got from dumping the can in a pot on a stove to heat it up. He throws some hotdogs on to boil next. “On some fuckin’ vegan diet. He was all on this environmental shit too, goin’ on about all this political correctness bullshit ‘cause Mark was a democrat and pushin’ him to have all them same views and opinions of shit. I mean don’t get me wrong, I can see tryna be a better person, but it wasn’t who Justin really was.”

“Yeah that doesn’t really sound like the Justin I remember.”

“Nah it really don’t, does it,” Mack agrees. “He’s a bit more like his old self now. But Mark just put all this dumb shit in his head. Got him into all that pop music he was listenin’ to and turned his ass into a flaky fuckin’ bitch that acted like he was better than everybody else.”

I chuckle at that. “Well I don’t mind pop music,” I comment, then take another puff off my cigarette. Mack rolls his eyes at that. It makes me laugh even harder, sardonically though, because I still feel like absolute shit. If I ever pursued Justin, I’d be competing with a couch potato, and that’s a blow to my ego I didn’t think possible. That Justin would choose _that_ over me. I mean, I was expecting Mack to say Garret was this rich, cultured guy that I couldn’t possibly compare to.

Jesus Christ, what does he have, a monster cock?

Wait no. No because then Justin would’ve taken me just fine, and goddamn that shit was tight.

But hearing him talk about Mark makes a few things click in my head and things start to make sense. One, that Justin was just sort of wrapped up in this, “I need to impress this guy and be everything he wants me to be if I’m going to keep his attention,” kind of phase, which I’ve done before in relationships. And two, it explains why he’s pulling a complete 180° with Garret. It may very well be like how Mack coined it, that he’s punishing himself.

I wouldn’t doubt if Justin blamed himself for Garret cheating on him somehow. When Erica, this girl I dated before Melissa, started fucking around on me, I totally blamed myself for that shit. Because I’d cheated before and I wasn’t exactly the greatest boyfriend to Erica anyway. I hit a phase after the band broke up, where I was just an asshole to everyone twenty-four seven, and didn’t care who I hurt in the process. Erica was included in that.

I hear Mack say, “Well I for one would be much happier seein’ him with a guy like you, ya know? Somebody that’s actually gonna treat him right. Ain’t gonna try to change him an shit.”

“Yeah I don’t see that happening,” I say.

I bounce thoughts of Justin around in my head while Mack finishes making lunch, and by the end of it, I come to some conclusions. One: I need to put Justin out of my head and move on, because that’s a pipedream. Two: I need to stop letting thoughts of Dusty and my band touring on the road drag me down and stop me from enjoying my music. And finally three: I need to stop smoking these goddamn cigarettes because they’re killing my throat.

But I really don’t know how I’m going to do _any_ of those three things, at the moment.

* * *

Life continues same as before.

We go to work that week and this time we’re laying down new hardwood flooring. It’s pretty boring shit, but it always is. There is absolutely nothing exciting whatsoever about my job, but in a weird way, that’s kind of why I like it. It in no way reminds me of my past, or the exhilaration of stage performance, and in no way makes me want to do the things I used to do when I played music. It’s just flooring. That’s all. Nothing more to it. So we work, and per usual, we jam out to rock music on the radio.

But we’ve got a new crew member though.

And this one I actually _like_.

At least, I like him now. I didn't always.

It’s Calvin Hayes, who we now like to call our little rainbowneck, instead of redneck, ever since he came out.

Yeah, he’s gay too. Well, technically bisexual, he says. I’ve never personally had a problem with Calvin (though I was very resentful of him picking a fight with Trevor that night at Smoke’s) But ever since he came out of the closet finally, he’s been ten times easier to get along with. He just seems happier too. Especially now that he’s not hanging around Rodney Hicks. That had to have sucked, being secretly gay and friends with such an asshole like him.

But now things are better for him, and even though he doesn’t have half the friends he used to, he’s still got us, and now he’s got a better job than working at the gas station, because Mack pays him way better than the Quickie Mart did. He’s a little slow when it comes to carpentry work, because he doesn’t have as much experience, but he’s catching on, and though he’s a country boy, he doesn’t mind Mack throwing on some classic rock for us to listen to, because he says he likes it too.

But despite how good things seem to be, I just… I just can’t seem to be all that happy and chill like everyone else is.

I know what my problem is. I accepted a long time ago that I’m not meant to be single, and I don’t want to be. I’m much happier in a relationship than being completely alone, even if I don’t really get that much out of the relationship. So maybe I wasn’t attracted to Melissa, but I still liked being with her because I enjoyed the companionship. I liked having someone in my life, and while I appreciate Mack and Lenny, I’m extremely jealous of their happiness.

So I do something extremely stupid one night, as I’m laying in bed. I download Grindr. It’s basically Tinder, but queer. I set up a profile and send my dumbass hurtling into the gay dating world. I don’t match with anyone here in town because, fuck, why would I? But it turns out there are a surprising number of gay men using the app that are maybe only a few hours away. A couple of them are weird though. The first guy that texts me just sends, “Daddy” with a bunch of heart eyes emojis and no thank you.

I’m not into guys calling me Daddy. I have issues with that shit. So that’s definitely a no. But I get that it’s a hook-up app and I have zero expectations of any kind of meaningful conversation with any depth. But I’m just trying to get laid here, and trying to get Justin out of my head. I can work out the logistics of a relationship at a later date, but for now I’d at least like a male body laying next to me a night or two a week. (Maybe more, depending on how often we can meet up.)

But the next guy freaks me out. I have no idea if it’s the same one, but his profile says his name is _Garret_. His picture is actually pretty tasteful, he’s just standing there in a sweater, beanie worn pulled back on his head like a hipster, black wire rimmed glasses, and a knit scarf. He looks like the kind of guy you would see typing his novel in a noisy café rather than in the comfort of his own home because he “likes the aesthetic”. Like the kind of guy that listens to indie pop.

He’s not my type, because my type is 5’6 and played clarinet and joined the marching band, but I’m tempted to message him just because I’m curious as to what he would say. Curious if he might put off some creepy vibes… maybe even invite me to have a threesome with his boyfriend, like Justin’s Garret did. (Which you definitely don’t do without talking to your partner first, just FYI.) In the end, I don’t message him, but I spend a considerable amount of time studying that face, memorizing it.

I don’t know how to get myself out of this funk I’m in.

If I’m not thinking about Justin, I’m thinking about Dusty, and that’s ten times worse. Thinking about my old band mates just reminds me of shit I don’t want to dwell on, shit I can literally do nothing about, and this sucks. And again, seeing everyone around me so happy and content is just kind of making me feel worse. I feel just like that fucking chapter song, man. Starless. With no hope, and drowning in my thoughts. Just needing to forget. 

And if I don’t come up for air soon?

I might start picking back up some really bad habits I used to have.

And I never want to go down that road again.

Those bad habits killed my best friend, and he’s not coming back.

* * *

Yeah I’m really not having a good day, the following day at work, but it’s Friday and a small consolation that we don’t work tomorrow, which means my ass can get shitfaced tonight, and I plan to. First stop I’m making when we leave is the liquor store and I’m buying a bottle of Jack. But I’m dragging all day at work, just feeling so out of it. I haven’t slept much really, and my appetite has been absolute shit too. I’m so tired man. Tired, and obviously fucking depressed.

Mack notices that shit too, but he doesn’t say anything really. I mean, other than asking if I’m alright, periodically throughout the day, which I really appreciate. But I don’t know what to say about it, and neither does he have any sort of helpful advice to give. Just tells me if I need to talk about shit, I can. Which again, I really appreciate. But this isn’t something Mack can help me with anyway. Nobody can. So I lie and say I’m fine, just haven’t slept well.

Though I’m pretty sure he catches on toward the end of the day, while we’re cleaning up, as to what’s wrong.

Dead certain, once I explain myself.

Calvin is loading the tools in the truck, and Mack and I are in the house still, I’m sweeping the floor and Mack’s rolling one last joint for the three of us to smoke before we head out. I’m crouched over, sweeping saw dust and other debris into a dustpan, when Mack asks me, “So, just out of curiosity, what’s the _real_ reason you don’t play music anymore?” 

I blink at that. I look up to watch him lick the adhesive on the rolling paper before sealing it up with his thumb.

I stand up straight and let out a sigh.

“It’s… complicated.”

Mack snorts. “Most everything usually is.”

“Yeah no doubt.”

“You know you can talk about it. I ain’t gonna judge. I mean, I’m kinda the last person to judge anybody, know whatta mean?”

“Yeah I know.”

Mack lights the joint. “So what happened to ya?”

I take another deep breath, eyes on the floor, at the dirt piled up near my left boot.

I nudge it around a little.

“My drummer died,” I say, solemnly. “Overdosed on heroin.”

Mack says nothing to that, just holds the joint out to me.

I gladly take it, needing something, _anything_ , to curb the emotions rising at the memory.

Of seeing Dusty laying unresponsive on a hotel room floor while I’m on the phone, frantic, with 911.

Yeah, all the passion for music in me died that night, right along with him.

And I’m just not the same guy anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Invincible"–Crossfade](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=LD5-ERDYpoQ&feature=share)
> 
> Check out TK's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-3q4InjDkADTzrXYMyFNLg)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)
> 
> Join the Discord: <https://discord.gg/wVFt8Ke5YN>


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